


Anything You Like

by fencite



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, F/F, First Time, role model
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencite/pseuds/fencite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GKM Fill. Santana is a high school student in New York when Ph.D. candidate Quinn moves into her apartment building.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Grace Kelly_ by Mika
> 
> Original prompt here: http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/50716.html?thread=63713052#t63713052

Santana twitched her arm away from whatever was poking it, and settled down further into her chair. She only had about ninety pages left in her book and was determined to have it done by the end of the day.

"Helloooo, is anybody hoooome-"

She looked up. "What?"

"San, I've been standing here at least five minutes. The book can't be that good; are you purposefully ignoring me?" Rachel gestured broadly with her hands. "No one else is here. We are allowed to go home when school is over. I promise they will let you come back tomorrow."

Santana made a face at her best friend. "Whatever, so I didn't hear the bell. It's not like we're going to miss a bus or something. Or, wait, are you going away this weekend?" She stood up and dropped her book into her messenger bag.

"No. Sadly, my grandparents are far too involved in their lawn bowling tournament or something and cannot possibly spend two days looking after me." Rachel grinned. "Which means you and I are hanging out all day Sunday. Just not tomorrow – the recital is in two weeks so my dads have booked me extra dance studio time. I would worry that they don't trust my natural talent, but I think they just want to have the apartment to themselves. Parents in love are so obnoxious."

"Yes, your life is tragic. Come on, let's at least get to a subway station before it gets dark." Santana put her arm through Rachel's and pulled her to a door. Rachel knew full well that Santana's own parents were not obnoxiously in love, but she wouldn't comment on it. Her parents spent their time carefully avoiding seeing each other for more than a day at a time, with the inevitable consequence that they were both rarely at home. 

Santana was fine with it, though. She had lived in New York all her life. She knew her doorman, the staff of every coffee shop and diner within two blocks of their apartment, and plenty of delivery phone numbers. Her parents were generous with her allowance; and if they didn't put much importance into seeing her more than a few times a month, well, who was she to complain?

They got to the subway stop closest to their private school and found an empty spot to wait in. Santana took out her phone to check for messages, just in case, but was unsurprised to find it silent. Rachel was really the only person who texted her regularly. She had a few other friends from school that she hung out sometimes, but she wouldn't usually hear from them unless something big was happening. 

Rachel must have seen her face. "Away? You know you can come to the studio with me if you're bored tomorrow. Bring your sketchbook, draw me – oh, you should! You should draw me. I have lots of professional photos of myself, but I just realized my wall is tragically lacking a personal portrait drawn by my best friend, the amazing artist." Rachel pressed her hands over her heart as if no idea had ever made her so happy. "Please say you will."

Santana hid a smile. "Gee, Rach, that's such a generous offer. But I do have things I can do, not the least of which is the history essay. If you're that desperate, I can sketch you on Sunday. Nothing fancy, though. Portfolios are coming up soon, now that midterms are over, and I have a ton of drawings to finish."

Their train arrived, and Santana followed Rachel to a pair of empty seats. "Fine. But if you change your mind, I'm there until at least four. And Sunday, you have to come to me. I have a new songbook, and we're going to do duets."

"No, Rachel, come on. You know I don't sing. We have tried this plenty of times, it's never going to happen. You need to find a duet best friend and replace me. But only in that one area. No other best friend duties." Santana bumped her shoulder against Rachel's. 

"It will never happen. I have been spoiled. How can I trust a new best friend if I haven't known them since Kindergarten? I will be forever deprived of a singing partner because of your heartlessness. I hope you know that."

Santana rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Rachel had more than enough singing partners, as she was in every choir and vocal ensemble their school would let her join. The number of extracurricular activities in her friend's schedule was frankly terrifying. "I do. I accept the blame, and will of course pay for your inevitable therapy with my first millions."

"Good. As long as we're on the same page. OK, my stop. Love you, my dearest. I will check up on you tomorrow and you had better be doing something or I will send Daddy to pick you up himself." Rachel gave her air kisses and ran out the subway door as Santana waved.

She settled her bag more firmly on her lap, and let her mind wander. It was true; having met each other when they were only five years old had made for a solid friendship. Rachel had been loud and outgoing, and Santana had been quiet and shy, and they had locked onto each other within a few weeks. Play dates led to birthday party invitations and summer sleepovers. They had stayed at the same private academy through their school careers, with most of the same kids, and despite a few blow-ups had remained tight friends. Now they were getting near the end of junior year; talking about college applications and future plans. Most of her other friends seemed to be thinking about art or political science programs, or were planning to travel the world for a year. Rachel, of course, was going to be going to a performance school. And Santana was still trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, post-high school. 

The subway stopped at her station, and Santana joined the crowd leaving the train and walking up the stairs. She continued down the sidewalk for a few blocks until she got to her building. It was only six stories high; short compared to many of the buildings around it. But she had lived there since she was eight, and it was familiar. She also knew basically everyone else who lived there, by face if not by name.

She walked through the door and waved at Ben, the daytime doorman. He nodded at her, and turned back to the woman standing in front of his desk. Santana pushed the elevator call button then looked back at the woman. She was about Santana's height, maybe taller because of the pumps she was wearing. From the back, she looked to be dressed in some sort of dress suit, or maybe just a skirt and jacket. Definitely coming from work. 

Santana watched the pair idly as she waited. Part of her wished she could get her sketchbook out right then; she loved to people watch, picking the interesting faces and drawing them, giving them an imaginary back story as she drew their features. She couldn't see this woman's face, but judging by the suit and the briefcase lying at her feet, Santana could picture her as a powerful CEO somewhere, terrifying her underlings, holding court at meetings. Maybe she had a personal assistant who followed her everywhere, trying to anticipate her needs, and –

And she was coming this way. Santana quickly averted her eyes as if she had just been scanning the room, then turned to face the elevator as it opened. Santana hurried in, and the woman from the desk followed her. She pushed the ‘4' button then said, "For you, sweetie?"

Santana blushed and looked down, mumbling, "Same, thanks." Was she visiting someone? Who else lived on four? The Actons, Henry and Dora, and her least favorite neighbors, the Hoopers. The Actons were ancient; maybe she was a daughter or granddaughter. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when the blonde woman held out her free hand to Santana. "Hi, I'm new. Do you live here? I'm Quinn."

Santana took a quick breath, and shook her hand. "Santana. I do. Live here, yes."

Quinn smiled at her. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Santana. I'm sure we'll cross paths."

The elevator door opened on their floor, and they stepped into the hallway. Santana walked slowly as she turned toward her door, trying to see where Quinn would go. Four-C. The Hoopers? Had they moved out? Maybe Ben would tell her. But they must have, if she was living there. Quinn turned around and waved as she got her door unlocked, and Santana quickly turned to her own door. She probably looked like a crazy person. 

She unlocked her apartment, stepped inside, and re-locked it before turning to face the rooms. Empty, as she expected. Her mother had been in Chicago for the past two weeks, and her father had left just the previous day for London. Or possibly Dublin? She couldn't remember. They always left her notes and a schedule, when they knew their plans, and usually coordinated with each other about days they would be in New York. She would pull out the calendar later and see if her father had left a return date. 

She dropped her bag in her room and switched on her computer, then walked back to the kitchen to get herself a snack. She pulled an apple out of the bowl in the fridge and wandered the apartment as she ate. A new person on her floor could be exciting. The Hoopers had lived there a long time, and Mrs. Hooper had told off Santana and Rachel more than once for giggling in the hallway, on their five second walk from the elevator to her door. She wouldn't miss them at all. Plus, Quinn didn't look very old at all. Was she new to the city, too? Maybe Santana should offer to give her a tour.

Santana shook her head. Where in the world did that come from? She was not the type to offer a tour; what could she even say? "Ah yes, there is the independent coffee shop where my judgmental friends hang out; highly recommended for your business meetings." No, she would treat the new woman just like every other tenant. She would say hello in the hallway, and accept comments on "Goodness, how tall you're getting, my dear." Well, maybe not in those words, exactly. The old ladies on her floor had known her for almost ten years and were endlessly impressed by her ability to grow up. She sighed. She was looking forward to being an adult. She bet no one commented on how much you've grown when you're actually grown up.

She tossed the apple core into the garbage and headed back to her room. If she got the outline done on this paper, at least, then tomorrow she could just fill in details and maybe go out somewhere for the afternoon. Ilse usually had a hint by then of what bands were playing around town. She sat down at her computer and opened her word processor, then got out her phone to text Rachel.

_Santana: Home sweet home. What should I have for supper?_

_Rachel: I vote Chinese, but only because Dad is making spaghetti again, and I want to live vicariously through you_

_Santana: Done. You don't even like Chinese food, you always complain about the salt_

_Rachel: Well, it makes my feet swell up. A dancer with swollen feet looks ridiculous_

_Santana: Just buy bigger shoes. There's a new person living in the Hoopers' apartment_

_Rachel: Whaaaaat? What happened?_

_Santana: No idea. I'll ask Ben when my food arrives, get the deets._

_Rachel: Amazing. Keep me in the loop. We are going to have a slumber party in your hallway to celebrate, jsyk_

_Santana: I will run that by the new girl lol_

_Rachel: Sounds young? Weird, I thought your building was entirely old couples except you_

_Santana: Nah, there's some variety outside my floor. Even children on the second floor_

_Rachel: I am shocked, shocked I tell you. And I'm being paged to set the table. Enjoy your food! Text me tomorrow!_

_Santana: Will do, ciao_

_______________________________________

Santana pushed the clothes around in her closet again. It was a reasonably nice day for the middle of April, but the forecast called for rain in the evening, and she wanted to make sure she had the right layers on. She finally settled on a light brown peasant top to go with her skinny jeans. She was sure she owned a similarly-colored jacket in the front hall, and some ankle boots. She tied her hair in a loose ponytail and grabbed her bag. Time for a break.

She had been up since about eight that morning, doing some chores and working on her essay. She had even finished one of her art projects, which wasn't due till the end of the following week. And now she was rewarding herself by going for a walk, destination TBD. At least until it rained. 

She tucked her phone into the side of her bag and dropped in her sunglasses, just in case. By the time she got to the lobby of the building, she was running through possible places to sit and draw without interruption. The park would probably be full of small children, but the coffee shop on the corner beside it usually had a comfy chair or two free. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when Ben called to her across the lobby. She walked over to see what he wanted.

"Santana, just the person I was hoping to see. Are you doing anything right now?" Ben had started working there soon after Santana and her parents had moved in, and they knew each other pretty well. She sometimes did homework at the table and chairs near his desk when she felt too alone in her own apartment; he was surprisingly good at geography.

"Nothing special; going for a walk," she replied. "What's going on?"

"Want to be me for a few minutes? I am in desperate need of coffee and fresh air, but there's furniture being delivered and I haven't been able to leave my post for hours. You know everyone anyway, and if the delivery guys show up you can just stall them until I get back and can sign them in. Won't be more than ten minutes."

Santana raised an eyebrow. "If you're not careful, I'll just put you out of a job. Some higher-up is going to do a surprise visit, see my fresh young face, and wonder why they ever hired you."

"You're a doll, Santana," Ben replied with a grin. "Can I bring you back something?"

"Nah, I'll probably end up getting something to drink while I'm out. Go on, I can handle the door buzzer. Whose furniture is it?"

"New tenant, on your floor – did you see her yesterday? Quinn Fabray." Ben was out of his chair and putting his keys into his pockets as he spoke. 

"Oh yeah, I meant to ask you what happened to the Hoopers," Santana said as she settled behind the desk. "But Paulo was already here for the night when my supper was delivered."

"You really should learn how to cook. How anyone survives on delivery every night is beyond me. And they moved out last weekend - an extended care facility, they said, now that Mr. Hoopers' memory is so bad. Had been planning it for a while, and then a spot opened up in the building they wanted, and they were gone in under two weeks. Ms. Fabray happened to call right after they put in their notice, looking for something ASAP. Fates aligning, I tell you. Alright, I'll be right back. Anything happens, just stall. You are my favorite." Ben patted her on the shoulder and headed to the door.

"Yeah, I know," Santana called after him. A few minutes' delay wouldn't hurt her plans this afternoon, and it even looked like the sun was starting to peek out. Maybe she would go to the park, then. The light would be nicer.

"Hello; you're not who I expected to see."

Santana looked away from the windows at the front of the lobby and found herself face to face with Quinn, who was leaning on the end of the desk.

"Oh, hi. Yeah, Ben just needed to duck out, so I'm covering the desk. He doesn't usually do this, but there are – well, you know, there are deliveries today. So I'm," Santana trailed off. "Here," she finished lamely.

"It's Santana, right?" Quinn asked. "I just got the call that my truck was a few minutes away, so I wanted to meet them. Do you mind if I hang out with you for a little?"

"No, not at all," Santana replied. She looked awkwardly around the room, trying to find something to say. Small talk. Who decided small talk was so important?

"What are your plans today?" Quinn asked. "Work, fun?"

"Oh, I don't have a job. Yet," Santana replied. "I might try this summer, though, once school is out. I was just going to go for a walk. Nothing special."

"It should be a nice day for a walk. What are you taking in school? You must have exams soon."

"No, actually, we just finished midterms. I'm in high school."

Quinn looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Really? You look older, I suppose. I teach college students, and I'm usually a good guesser of ages. College next year?"

"Year after. I'm a junior."

"Oh, OK." Quinn nodded. 

Santana felt very young. Quinn was a professor. Older than she thought, then. "Where do you teach?" she asked.

"At Columbia. Only two courses right now, though – I'm working on my Ph.D. so most of my time is spent on my dissertation. Which is part of why I moved. I cannot get work done with my roommates around, so I needed to get my own place." 

"Wow," Santana replied. "You must be smart. Columbia is on my maybe list when I start applying next year, but everything I've read says you need to have back-ups. They have really high standards."

Quinn shrugged. "Sounds right. Especially for undergrads; a ton of people apply who don't get in. But there aren't quite so many people fighting to do a doctorate in English, so my chances were better." 

Santana perked up. "English, really? That's my best subject. What kinds of things do you teach?"

"Oh, mainly writing. They don't let the Ph.D. candidates do very much, honestly. But I proposed a summer course about gender and fiction written for young adults, which is part of what I'm writing my dissertation on, and got approved. I'm already planning my reading list – my little seminar group won't know what hit them." She grinned at Santana, who smiled back automatically. 

"That's so cool. I can't wait for university. I'm so tired of half the class not even caring what we're studying most days."

Quinn laughed lightly. "I'm sorry to tell you that not everything changes after high school. You still get some duds, but definitely once you get to specialize a bit, classes can be amazing. Do you want to study English?"

"I don't know. I don't want to be a teacher, or professor – sorry – but I do love reading. I'm trying not to think about it." The front door buzzed and Santana looked up – Ben was standing outside holding a cup of coffee and a paper bag. Santana waved, and pushed the button that unlocked the door for him.

"I come bearing treats. Hello, Ms. Fabray, I see you've met my helper. Santana, take a donut. Don't leave them all with me; it would be cruel." Ben walked over and sat down in the chair Santana had just vacated, gesturing with the paper bag. 

"Thanks, Ben, but I just ate lunch. If they're around when I get back, I'll take one then." Santana stood awkwardly beside Quinn. Was their conversation over?

"She did a fantastic job of manning the desk," Quinn said, then turned to smile at Santana. "If you ever have questions about universities, I am more than happy to answer them. I know deciding on a school and program is scary."

Santana nodded. "Alright, I will. I'll see you later." She picked up her messenger bag and hooked it over her shoulder.

"You know where to find me." Quinn turned to face Ben again, and Santana walked outside.

She turned left and started walking quickly up the road. Thinking about life post-high school really was scary. Her parents did expect her to be attending college, of course, but hadn't expressed any particular interest in discussing options with her. Maybe she could do some reading on local colleges and then pay Quinn a visit, get her opinions. That was probably fine. 

Santana felt her phone buzz and pulled it out of her bag to check the message. It was from Ilse, a friend from her art class. 

_Ilse: Neon Neon playing at Shivers tonight, according to a source at the club. Jorge and I are going for 10. You in?_

Santana continued walking and considered it. Ilse was usually her best source for music. Her dad was connected in some complex way to the owners of many venues in their neighborhood, and turned a blind eye to his seventeen-year-old daughter going out with her friends and a fake ID. She wrote back to say she would join them. She could use a night out.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting on Rachel's bed in her almost-entirely pink room the next day, Santana tossed her pencil to the floor.

"This is ridiculous. It's like my hands aren't working today."

Rachel frowned. "You really can't draw me, huh? Is it the pose? Because if you want to just draw my face I can totally find a place to hang that, instead."

"No, your pose is fine. Though you look uncomfortable, I have to say." 

Rachel stuck her tongue out and relaxed from where she had been "casually" leaning against her window for the past ten minutes. "I am a professional. I was fine. I'm going to need to get used to modelling, you know. I have headshots now but lots of performers also keep full-body shots on hand, for auditions. Besides, it's good practice. My acting class has been a lot more about body language this year, instead of elocution. My elocution is practically perfect, so that's OK with me."

Santana rolled her eyes. Sometimes Rachel could hold a conversation with herself for ages before she noticed Santana wasn't contributing, but she had no interest in hearing another play-by-play of Rachel's amazing acting lessons.

"I'm just not in the mood for drawing, I think. Do you want to go do something?" She was feeling restless. "Have you ever been to Columbia? I hear it has a good English program. Maybe I should tour the campus."

Rachel dropped onto the bed beside her and pushed at Santana's shoulder to get her to move over. "Since when do you want to go into English? I thought you'd do fine arts. Do you even like English?"

Santana shrugged. "I like it now; maybe it would be interesting to study. Drawing isn't going to be enough for a fine arts program. I have to have actual goals. And I would have to pay attention to art history, which kind of makes me want to puke. Besides, we haven't toured any of the schools around here. I know you got brochures, but it's not the same thing at all."

"And what would you do with a degree in English? Write books?" Rachel scoffed. "No, you need to be doing something creative, Santana. You would get bored so quickly just reading all the time."

"I could be creative in English. Maybe I do want to write; I could take creative writing classes. I've never tried that."

Rachel turned onto her side to stare at Santana. "Alright, what happened? You were fine on Friday. Did your SAT scores come in? Mine haven't. Did Ilse brag again about her early admission to NYU? Or did your mother call? You know she's going to be happy with anything you choose, San." She grabbed Santana's hand and held it between hers. "You haven't even wanted to talk about college applications before now."

"I'm fine; it's nothing, really." Santana tried to look earnest. "I just met someone who is at Columbia, and they seemed to enjoy it."

"Oh, you _met_ someone," Rachel said, with a knowing smile. "And does this person have a name? Do they hang out at the same sketchy bars your awful friends take you to?"

"Shut it down, Rachel. It's just the woman who moved into my building. She teaches there."

"Oh," Rachel pouted. "I was hoping I would finally get to have the sex talk with you."

Santana gaped at her. "What? Since when do you know even a little bit more than I do about sex?"

"I don't tell you _everything_ ," Rachel said, flushing. "Sometimes, a lady likes to have secrets."

"Um, no. You are not a lady, and you do not get to have secrets. Spill, Berry." Santana sat up and crossed her legs.

Rachel slowly sat up and mirrored her on the bed. "It's not whatever you're imagining right now, first. Just some over the clothes and-maybe-a-little-under-the-shirt-action," she said, speeding up as she continued the sentence. 

"Oh my _god_ , Rachel; why did I not hear about this as soon as it happened? Best friend status trumps all secrets, I thought!"

"I was going to tell you eventually," Rachel said evasively. "It was only a few weeks ago. It just never came up naturally in conversation." She stuck her chin out defensively, then eyed Santana. "Are you mad at me?"

Santana sighed. "No, of course not, but now you have to come clean. Who, what, where – yes, where."

Rachel licked her lips and reddened more. "It was Uri."

Santana was confused. "What? Is that a person?"

"Uri!" Rachel repeated, as if that would help. "My acting coach? From NYADA?"

"Holy crap. You seduced your acting coach. How old is he, Rachel?"

"Not that old, actually. He turns twenty in a few weeks."

"He's a freaking college student, Rach. You are sixteen. You can't fool around with a college student!" 

"We're practically done high school. It's not that big a deal! And I didn't sleep with him; it was just some groping and stuff." Rachel was picking at her comforter, not meeting Santana's eyes.

Santana was shocked. She had expected to hear about one of their classmates, someone harmless that they had known since they were children. But she had never even met Rachel's acting teacher, and he was almost four years older than them. Rachel was always, if not precisely level-headed, at least practical. But hooking up with an older guy seemed very out of character.

"Are you dating him?" she asked, carefully. "Has it happened more than once? We should go tell your dads to find you a new teacher; this is so inappropriate."

Rachel shook her head. "My dads will never hear about this. If I wanted to date Uri, I would of course bring him around for them to approve him, but we're not dating. It was just a long lesson and we were caught up in a moment, and it happened. And I liked it, but we talked after and decided it wasn't right for us. I didn't want to _actually_ sleep with him. It just – it was nice knowing he was into me." Rachel finally met Santana's eyes. "I'm telling you the truth. It was a fun experiment, and I'm fine with it. And I officially know more about sex than you do," she finished, smirking.

Santana threw a pillow at her. "I can't believe it took you this long to tell me. Just for that, when I lose my virginity, I'm not telling you anything. It will be a mystery for you, forever."

"I don't believe a word. You'll call me within twenty minutes, wanting to go over everything minute by minute. I know you, Santana Lopez! You can't resist analyzing." Rachel looked relieved, and hugged the pillow to her chest.

"Whatever. You owe me for this. I accept ice cream as payment. No, gelato – I am feeling expensive today." Santana got off the bed and tugged on Rachel's arm. "We are going out, and you are giving me the minute by minute so I can analyze you."

Rachel giggled and followed her to the door.

_______________________________________

Santana shifted the market bag to her left hand so she could press the entrance buzzer to her building. The door started opening toward her, and she jumped back, surprised.

"Oh, did I knock into you? Sorry, I saw you coming and figured I could get the door." Quinn Fabray was pushing the door open from inside. Santana smiled her thanks and ducked past her.

"Are you waiting for deliveries again?" she asked. 

"No, I'm actually on my way out for the evening. Just waiting for my ride to pick me up." Quinn let the door fall closed and walked to the chairs set near the front windows. 

Santana looked back at her, noticing that she did appear to be dressed up too much to be at home. A form-fitting, sleeveless pale yellow dress with big turquoise buttons, and strappy sandals. She was holding what looked like a matching jacket and a grey handbag, and her hair was pulled into an artfully mussed bun. Santana thought she looked beautiful.

"Well, thanks. Enjoy your night," Santana said, walking to the elevator. 

"Are you in a hurry?" Quinn called. "It's just, my date appears to be late. You could keep me company for a few minutes; tell me what it's like to be a high school student these days."

Santana opened her mouth to reply, then closed it and nodded, walking back to the chairs where Quinn sat. She chose the one opposite Quinn and settled in carefully. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, I don't mean to quiz you. Any fun stories, things that are happening? Sometimes it seems that I only talk about my research for days at a time; I like to have a break now and then." Quinn smiled gently at her.

"OK, sure." Santana paused while she tried to think. What would interest Quinn? Her life was barely interesting enough most days to tell Rachel, let alone this new, mature, well-spoken person. "Well, I wrote an essay about Charlemagne this weekend, and now I need to create a multimedia presentation to summarize my information when I present it to my history class. History's one of my worst subjects, so I'm trying to think of a way to make it into a movie so I don't have to talk as much."

Quinn tilted her head in interest. "Charlemagne had a very interesting life. Was it a biography, or something specific you had to write about?"

"We had to pick something that our historical figures might have been written about in the equivalent of newspapers at the time, if they existed. I chose his religious views, and how they affected his rule and decisions."

"That's a great topic," Quinn replied, nodding. "If you do a movie, you could do an actual news broadcast, take the prompt very literally. A couple of stories about Charlemagne, some human interest about other events of the time, really show off your knowledge of the era. You could even add a book review – Beowulf was written somewhere around that time, and so was the Book of Kells."

Santana blinked, surprised. "That's a great idea. I think I might steal it. What's the Book of Kells?"

"Google it," Quinn said. "It's a beautiful manuscript of the four Gospels from the Bible; I was lucky enough to see it when I visited Dublin last year for a conference."

"You got to go to Dublin? I'm jealous; my parents travel everywhere but are so worried about me missing school that I've barely left the state, let alone the country."

"Don't be too jealous; I was there just for the conference, and had to sneak in tourist time around very dull panels about literary analysis." Quinn smiled at her, then looked out the window. "There we go, finally."

Santana followed her gaze, and saw a tall, dark-haired man approaching the door. "Is he your boyfriend?" she asked.

Quinn shook her head. "No, just a date. I don't really have time for a relationship these days, but dating is fun."

Santana nodded, though she wasn't sure she understood the difference. "Right. Well, enjoy your date."

"Thanks, Santana. And thank you for keeping me company, I do appreciate it." Quinn stood up, opened the door, and walked outside to the man. 

Santana watched Quinn as she leaned up to kiss his him, then turned away, blushing. That was clearly a moment not meant for her to see. She picked up the bag from the market and her messenger bag and headed to the elevator. As she waited for it, she wondered about dating. How long did you date someone before it became a relationship? She had gone on individual dates, mainly to school dances, but never out with the same boy twice. 

The elevator dinged, and she got in. Oh well, she thought. It's not like dating is an immediate concern for me. She remembered Rachel's description of Uri – how it was nice knowing he was "into" her. Was anyone into her? Would she be ready, excited to have sex if she knew someone was into her? She tried to picture herself with a faceless boy, kissing and taking off clothes. 

Her stomach churned. No, she wasn't ready. Good to know.

_______________________________________

The coffee maker beeped at her. Santana stood beside the counter, staring blankly at it. Oh, a mug. That would help.

She took her favorite travel mug out of the cupboard, added sugar, and filled it to the top with fresh coffee. What was it about Monday mornings, in particular, that made life seem too difficult to manage before coffee? She had to catch the subway within the next twenty minutes if she wasn't going to be late for school, and she hadn't even put her uniform on. 

Santana set the mug down by her bag and went back into her room to finish getting dressed. Hair pinned back, socks tall, shoes buckled. Had she missed anything? Ten minutes to get to the station, now.

She quickly picked up her bag and travel mug, locked the door behind her, and hit the elevator button. She stood, tapping her fingers impatiently on the mug, as the numbers slowly changed on the display. Then she heard a door opening, and turned to see who was coming into the hall.

It was 4C, Quinn's apartment door that opened, but that was not Quinn. Oh, the date. Her date had slept over? He looked rumpled, and Santana was pretty sure that was the same suit he had had on the night before. He came to stand beside her without speaking, and Santana waited to see if Quinn would come out too. But no, that was the sound of a bolt being thrown. They must have said goodbye inside the apartment, she supposed. 

The elevator finally opened, and Santana walked in, pushing the button for the lobby. She tried to stare straight ahead, not looking at the man standing beside her. How many dates had he and Quinn gone on? Maybe he was just visiting town, and needed a couch to crash on.

She scoffed at herself. Come on, Santana. Don't be naive. Adults are allowed to have casual sex if they want to. Even smart and helpful Ph.D. students. Just because _she_ wouldn't didn't mean she would judge Quinn. 

Santana felt mature and worldly as she stepped into the lobby. Now she just needed to talk to Rachel and make sure they were on the same page. It was better being worldly when someone else knew about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Santana flipped through Rachel's stack of college brochures. "Don't you have any for non-performing arts schools? Are you really only considering schools that have no other focus?"

"I decided that the best way to nurture my talent was to surround it with people who have the exact same dreams as I do. Having classes that are half performers and half people taking electives could leave me open to truly terrible partners for projects. It's just not what I imagine for my college career." Rachel was lying on her stomach on the floor of Santana's living room, scrolling through Facebook on Santana's laptop. "Why don't you just order your own brochures?"

Santana didn't reply. She had bookmarked a few schools in her browser but was nervous to order information from them. It felt too much like a decision, which she was not at all ready for. She had an appointment with their school guidance counsellor for the following day, too, and was beginning to worry about it. Ms. Pillsbury would need her to talk about her career goals or future plans to help her decide where to apply, but Santana really had no ideas. Couldn't she stay in high school a few years longer?

"San, why do you have four tabs open about the Book of Kells? Are you doing a project on it? It looks old." 

"Rachel, you aren't supposed to poke around on my computer when I kindly let you use it. It's just for history class – Quinn suggested I google it and maybe include it in my presentation." Santana re-stacked the brochures and tossed them in the direction of Rachel's backpack.

"Who is Quinn? Do I know her?" Rachel sat up and looked at Santana. "I thought I knew everyone in our class."

"No, right, she's my new neighbor."

"Ah, yes," Rachel nodded. "The English teacher. She's helping you with history? That's a nice setup."

Santana shrugged. "She asked what I was doing at school. I don't think I can go to her for homework help, it was just a comment."

"Oh well. If you need a tutor, I have several-"

"Yes, I know," Santana interrupted. "You have a tutor for anything you could possibly want to study; isn't life difficult when you're Rachel Berry." She smiled to show she was teasing, and swung her legs off the bed. "You have a video camera, right? Or your dads do? If you bring it to school with you tomorrow, I am going to give you your showbiz break, and put you on the news."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you have lots of pull with the TV networks. I'll wear my best wig."

"No, really. I'm going to do a news broadcast for my history presentation. You can do half of the segments for me; dress up in a nice blouse and look grown up. It'll only be shown to my class, but it's still exposure for you. Plus, best friend privileges. I need your help."

"I am only doing this so I can practice my newscaster voice." Rachel stood up and stretched her arms out. "Study break?"

"Neither of us were studying, but yes please."

Rachel picked up her jacket from where it was lying on the back of the couch and started putting it on. "Coffee? Or real food?"

"Starbucks. Aunt Christa sent me a gift card for my birthday, so it's on me." Santana got her own jacket on and wrapped her scarf loosely around her neck, then walked out to the hallway, locking the apartment door once Rachel caught up to her.

"Your birthday is almost a month away still, you can't use a birthday gift card," Rachel scolded.

"That's not a rule," Santana replied as she pushed the call button for the elevator. "It doesn't take a month for mail to arrive from California, so if she sent it that early she must be OK with me using it early."

They argued good naturedly on the ride down to the lobby. When they got to the main doors, they were interrupted when the door opened and Quinn walked in. Santana smiled at her and moved aside so she would have room to pass, but Quinn stopped beside her.

"Hello again, Santana. I like your hat," Quinn said with a smile.

Santana reached up to straighten the slouchy knitted cap she was wearing, and smiled back. "Thanks. It's from a little shop down on 18th."

Quinn nodded, approvingly. "It suits you. I'll see you later."

"Thanks, yeah. Bye." She half-waved and turned back to the door and Rachel, who was giving her a questioning look. Santana shook her head minutely and pushed the lobby door open.

"Who is that?" Rachel asked as soon as they were outside. "Oh, wait, the new person – is that the English teacher?"

"Yeah, that's her. Quinn," Santana replied. 

"She's younger than I expected. She was the one at Columbia, right?"

"She is, but she's not done her Ph.D. yet. I'm not sure exactly how old she is." Santana pushed the button at the crosswalk and waited for traffic to stop, then stepped onto the road. 

"Well, her shoes were amazing. Did you see them?" Rachel looped her arm through Santana's and slowed their pace a little. 

"Oh yes, I agree. She's always dressed up when I see her, but those shoes were extra nice."

"You should ask to borrow them. She's your height, you might have the same shoe size. You could wear them to the spring formal! Oh, with your purple dress, with the straps? San, those shoes would be just perfect, you have to ask her."

Santana shook her head. "I don't know, Rachel. She only moved in last week. I think it would be weird for me to borrow her clothes."

"It won't hurt to bring it up. And if you wore that, I could wear your gray dress, the poufy one."

"Ah, I see what's happening. Preppy, girly Rachel Berry is coveting my wardrobe! And the gray one would be too long on you; you're like four inches shorter than me."

"I would figure it out. Is that a yes?" Rachel looked up at Santana and widened her eyes, batting them dramatically. 

"You're such a suck-up," Santana laughed. "Fine. Wear the gray dress. I will think of my own outfit."

"Excellent. I'm glad we've settled that. Now, the big question. Did you see the new guy today? The tall one, who was talking to Eric Leitner after Spanish?" Rachel held the door of the coffee shop open for Santana to walk through. 

Santana furrowed her eyebrows. "No, I don't think so. In the classroom?"

"No, in the hall, by the stairwell. You didn't see him? Oh, Santana, he was _gorgeous_. You have no idea. I'll point him out to you tomorrow. I think he might be in my Government class, actually – I saw him look through the door window in the middle of class but he didn't come in. Or I guess he could have been lost."

They placed their orders at the counter, which Santana paid for with her gift card, then waited for their drinks to be made. Once they had them, they moved to a grouping of comfy chairs by the window, and Rachel continued her topic.

"And at the end of the day, he was sitting in the headmaster's office. But I don't think he was in trouble; at least, he didn't look upset. He was probably just setting his schedule."

"Seriously, Rachel, did you stalk this guy all day? Do you know his mother's name and his favorite team yet? You're sounding creepy." Santana blew carefully across the top of her chai latte. 

"Yes, ha ha," Rachel scoffed. "I also got his driver's license, which is why I don't even know his name yet. You'll see him tomorrow and then you'll understand."

Santana watched her friend stir her hot chocolate and bit her lip. This was the pose she needed. "Hey Rach?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you feel about not moving much for the next half hour or so? Cause the way you look right this second is perfect."

Rachel looked up and grinned widely. "See? I'm a natural model! Am I still allowed to drink?"

"Yeah, just don't shift around much. You can talk, too, just ignore me." Santana opened her messenger bag and took out the sketchpad and pencils that always lived there. She flipped to a new page and started her outline. Rachel was half curled up in her chair, with one leg tucked under her and the other falling at an angle, resting on the front of the chair. She was leaning one elbow on the arm rest and holding her cup with the other hand, tilting her face somewhat down. Her hair, which had been clipped back for the school day, was falling loosely around her face. It was nothing like the artificial stance she'd tried on the weekend, and Santana wasn't sure she could capture how relaxed her friend looked. But she would try. "Now, tell me what this guy looked like."

_______________________________________

"But then he told me that he wouldn't even be able to get here until eight at the earliest, so I had to call my wife back and reschedule." Ben leaned forward over his desk as he spoke. Santana covered her face, trying to smother her laughter. Ben glared at her.

"It's not funny! It was our anniversary!" He settled back into his chair. "Anyway, that's how we ended up in Long Island for a week in the middle of August."

"I'm sorry, Ben," Santana said, breathing deeply to calm her giggles. "It was obviously very difficult for you."

"Yes, yes it was. And I appreciate your sincere sympathy." Ben crossed his arms. "I remember now why I like you." He uncrossed his arms and pressed the button to unlock the front door, and Santana turned to see Quinn coming inside. "Good afternoon, Miss Fabray," Ben called.

"Hello Ben, Santana," Quinn replied. "It looks like I'm interrupting something fun."

"Santana was being a kind listening ear as I plan for me and my wife's tenth anniversary," Ben explained. "And she certainly was not laughing at my misfortune."

Santana covered her smile with her hand again. 

"How nice of her. Maybe if she's not busy tonight, I could borrow Santana from you for a bit? I'm feeling a bit lonely, after living with roommates for so long." Quinn looked over at Santana. "What do you think? Do you have dinner plans?"

"Um, no, not really." Santana shook her head.

"Excellent. You know where to find me; want to drop in around six? Do you eat salmon?" Quinn was already walking away, toward the elevators.

"Vegetarian, sorry," Santana replied.

Quinn paused once she entered the elevator. "No problem. I'll think of something else then." The door closed. 

Santana turned back to Ben. "Doesn't she have friends over all the time?" she asked quietly.

"You know I can't talk about other tenants, Santana," Ben scolded her with a smile. "I assume she has as many visitors as anyone else. Except you. Do you have any other friends except the small loud one?"

Santana shrugged. "My other friends don't really hang out in houses. They like farmers markets and coffee shops, mainly." 

"Sounds exciting." Ben raised his eyebrows. 

Santana shrugged again and said goodnight to Ben, heading up to her own apartment. She set out the books she would need for homework that night, then turned on her computer. She had a little over an hour until she needed to go across the hall to Quinn's. She was a fast writer; she could probably do the introduction section for her art portfolio by then.

Her cell phone alarm went off fifty minutes later, and Santana looked up from her document. A pretty good start, she thought. She looked down at her school uniform and grimaced. No one would take her seriously while she wore the ridiculous navy pleated skirt and matching blazer.

Santana quickly stripped off the uniform, hanging it up carefully, and stood in front of her closet. What had Quinn been wearing? She'd had a long jacket, so Santana hadn't been able to see her top, but she definitely had worn tailored pants in a heather gray color. Santana pulled out a pair of dress pants, then frowned and hung them up again. She wasn't trying to get Quinn to hire her somewhere; they were just having dinner. She grabbed a pair of patterned tights and a sweater that fell to her mid-thigh, and ran her fingers through her loose hair. Good enough.

At six on the dot, Santana knocked on Quinn's door. She heard "Come in!" from inside, and slowly opened it and walked in. As she had expected, the apartment looked a lot like hers, only rotated. She came into the living room then walked around the corner to the kitchen, where Quinn stood in front of the stove, stirring something in a pot. She was still wearing the gray pants, but now Santana could see that she wore a sleeveless white blouse on top, with a dark leather belt. Quinn smiled at her. "Perfect timing! It'll be a few more minutes here - I made a stir-fry, and there's rice cooking as well. You're welcome to have a seat."

Santana nodded and walked back to the living room. She noticed there were a few pictures hanging near the doorway, and went to look at them. They were black and white prints of various buildings from unusual angles, and Santana frowned slightly as she tried to figure out if the buildings were familiar.

Quinn walked up behind her. "I'm something of an amateur photographer. I don't do my own developing anymore because I don't have time, but these photos are from where I used to live, in the Lower East Side. I used to walk the same six blocks or so whenever I had spare time, and these were some of my favorite views."

"They're lovely," Santana said. "I have a camera but I'm not very good with it. It used to belong to my dad; he bought it when he was in college."

"You're old fashioned, using a film camera," Quinn said. Santana shrugged, and she continued. "Film draws me in. I like knowing that each shot took time and meant something. You should try a photography class. Does your school offer one?"

Santana shook her head. "I don't have time in my schedule. My courses are pretty set in stone for next year."

"Well, if you ever want to take your camera out for a walk, I'd be happy to join you. I don't know this area well yet, but I bet I could find something worth capturing. Are you ready to eat?"

By the time they had finished supper, Santana was sure there was nothing Quinn didn't know. She held her own when Santana talked about her courses at school, her favorite artists and galleries, and the fields her parents worked in. Quinn talked about her travels for work and school, and the places she had vacationed with her parents when she was younger, and Santana began mentally composing a list of places she needed to see when she got the chance to travel. As they lingered over a dessert of fresh blueberries, Santana worked up her nerve.

"Can I ask how old you are?"

Quinn looked surprised. "Twenty-eight. Why?"

"You just seem so," Santana searched for the word. "Accomplished. You know so much, and about everything. How do you do it?"

Quinn thought for a moment before responding. "Well, I've always been a reader. I like to follow the news and current events, and keeping myself up to date with interesting things. It's fun for me, and rewarding when I push my own boundaries. It can be hard work, but I think it's worth it."

Santana nodded, then asked, "Have you always been like that?"

"No, not at all," Quinn shook her head. "In high school, I started out putting in the bare minimum. I was a cheerleader; I was far too busy with boys to worry about homework; and then I almost flunked a class. My parents were horrified, so they grounded me, took away my car, and made me volunteer at my aunt's job, at the local library. I was so bored shelving books that I actually started reading some, and then I never really stopped. By the time I was allowed to go out on weekends again, I wasn't so interested in parking and making out. I made guys take me to go see plays and poetry readings, and I was desperate to move out of Ohio and into a big city somewhere." Quinn paused to take a drink, and appeared to gather her thoughts. "I did lose some friends, but I made new ones. I got better at doing school things – apparently if you listen in class instead of staring out the window, school is pretty easy. My marks went up, I got valedictorian, I got into Yale. It all got better for me."

Quinn stopped again, and met Santana's eyes. "High school doesn't set a course for the rest of your life, but it can point you in directions where you might be interested. So can college. It's not a life sentence."

Santana looked down at her plate before she responded. "You can tell I'm nervous."

"Yeah, you seem to be. But college is a place for you to explore what's out there. You like art, but it seems like you don't want to be a professional artist."

"No, not really."

Quinn smiled. "Then pick something else. See what you like! Do general studies for a year or two. Try English and psychology and chemistry and computer programming. You have plenty of time to specialize."

She seemed to be waiting for Santana to speak, but continued after a moment. "I know we haven't known each other long. But you seem like a really smart girl, Santana, and you express yourself well. As long as you keep your mind open to new things, you'll do just fine."

Santana cleared her throat and looked around the room, trying to find a new subject. "Yeah. You said you were researching books for kids, right?"

Quinn started picking up dishes from the table. "For young adults. Like _Speak_ , or _The Book Thief_. Or _Twilight_ ," she added with a laugh. 

"Right. My friend lent me _On the Road_ by Kerouac, but I can't get into it. Would you recommend a book for me?" Santana picked up the bowl the blueberries had been served in and followed Quinn to the kitchen.

"Even better. I will pick you one from my own library. That way, if you don't like it, it's easy to trade it in again." Quinn led Santana to a tall bookshelf in the second room of the apartment, which was set up like an office. "This might take a while; you'd better sit down."

Santana hid her smile and sat down beside the shelves. "I am ready to accept your wisdom, o expert."

Quinn laughed, and handed Santana a stack of books.


	4. Chapter 4

Santana sat in the lobby of her building with a math textbook open in front of her, though she hadn't looked at it in several minutes. Her parents had both come home for visits over the past week to celebrate her seventeenth birthday with her, though not at the same time. Her mother had left Friday morning, in time for her father to fly in just for the weekend. Now it was Monday, and Santana really needed to catch up on homework after so much parental socializing all at once. But she couldn't focus.

It had been over a month since Quinn had moved into her building. Santana wasn't a particularly social person; she would usually go out a couple times a month with Ilse and her friends, and saw Rachel most weekends at one of their houses. And during the week, she could almost always be found alone in her apartment, usually texting with Rachel but otherwise getting work done. 

But in the past month, Santana had gone from "most nights alone" to " more than half of free evenings at Quinn's." After their first dinner together, Quinn had turned into a source of comfort and information for Santana. Quinn had invited her over soon afterwards for an evening, and they had spent it on their own computers, doing their own work and chatting occasionally. Now it had become their routine, two or three nights every week, to get together and work for a few hours. Santana was able to get her homework done for school in record time, with Quinn as inspiration (and sometimes as an expert googler), and Quinn seemed to be moving along in the chapter she was drafting for her dissertation. As her summer course got closer, Quinn even began discussing books and lesson plans with Santana, trying out discussion questions on her as she organized her course. 

Santana glowed with pride when Quinn complemented her on a clever answer; she wanted to read all of the books Quinn was assigning to her students so that Quinn would just keep talking to her about them. If Quinn had asked, Santana was sure she would have written essays for her.

Santana shifted in her chair, and pretended to look at her textbook again. Her parents being in town for a week, in total, had changed her schedule. She hadn't seen Quinn since the previous Monday except in the hallways. She had been allowed to have Rachel over once, for her birthday supper on Thursday, and hadn't gone out on the weekend. But at least she had seen Rachel and Ilse at school, and been able to catch up with them and explain her situation for the week. With Quinn, Santana had just disappeared. They had never exchanged phone numbers, and she hadn't been able to think of a convincing reason to tell either of her parents for why she needed so badly to visit one of the neighbors. 

Though Santana had seen her once. She had been waiting in the lobby Sunday morning while her father talked to Ben about a parcel he was expecting. Santana had gotten bored after a few minutes and had gone to sit in a chair by the window with her book. She had looked up when she heard the elevator opening, and Quinn had been inside, wrapped up in some guy's arms. He was tall with dirty blond hair, and was wearing a sport jacket. Quinn was wearing what seemed to be pyjama bottoms with a tank top, and neither of them had noticed the door opening, but had keep kissing. Santana stared covertly, holding her book up over most of her face, until the door closed again. When it re-opened a moment later, she could see Quinn laughing as she followed the man out into the lobby. Santana had quickly covered her face more fully as the pair came closer

Santana had risked lowering the book again when she heard the front door close, and watched as Quinn returned to the elevator alone. She had looked outside to see the man getting into a cab, and then her father had finally been ready to leave.

She twirled the pencil in her hand. Quinn had looked rumpled and happy, and Santana replayed her laughter in her head a few times. She had practically been on her tip-toes to kiss this one, just wearing flats. Santana wondered if Quinn was going to start really dating one of these guys, or if she just liked playing the field. She shook her head. Who said that, _playing the field_?

"Are you at a tough spot? You look upset."

Santana jerked her head up and saw that Quinn was pulling out the chair across the table from her. "What? Oh, no. I'm not really – I just was thinking about something else."

"Well, that's good. I'm out of practice with calculus, so I probably wouldn't have been much help." Quinn settled into the chair and set her purse on the table, then pulled out her phone. "I saw you with your parents last week. It must be nice to have them around for a while. Are you waiting for them now?"

"No, they're gone again. Dad flew out last night. It was just a bit quiet upstairs so I came down to keep Ben company." Santana closed her textbook and started putting her things away. "But I should probably get back up. It's getting late, and I have to finish a painting for tomorrow still."

"Oh, what are you painting?" Quinn got up and stood beside the table.

Santana finally got everything into her bag, picked it up, and started walking to the elevator. "It's part of a year-long project to use as many different mediums as possible to portray an idea that we chose out of a hat. My idea was curiosity, and this is my fifth piece. But it's really simple – it's kind of a collage-style picture of things being discovered. You know, a scientist, a kitten, some kids. I think my last piece will be sculpture, which should be way more fun." The elevator opened onto their floor, and they got out. "Do you want to see it? I've mostly just got details to add now, and then I'll fix my lighting."

Quinn smiled and nodded. "I would love to."

Santana led the way and opened her apartment door. "It's in my room, but I'll bring it out if you just wait here."

"Absolutely. Did you have a party here?" Quinn called after her.

Santana shook her head, then realized Quinn couldn't see her anymore, and called back. "No, the balloons are just from my birthday dinner. It wasn't a party; just my mom and Rachel." She returned to the living room, carefully carrying her unfinished painting. "There, work in progress."

"I didn't know it was your birthday; happy belated!" Quinn smiled widely before focusing on the painting. "Oh, this is lovely. I was expecting it to be more piecemeal, from your description, but your sections all blend together so nicely. And I love the eyes – painted eyes can be so lifeless, but your people here could just walk out of the canvas."

Santana blushed, feeling pleased. "Thanks. I, um, I don't usually paint unless my teacher requires it specifically, so it's nice to hear that it's working." She set the painting against the wall. "Did you want a drink or anything?"

"Thank you, but I need to go home and cook something. I've got an early morning tomorrow; my faculty advisor is approving my curriculum so my course can start next week. I'm pretty excited."

"That's awesome. You'll do great – the books you've given me have all been amazing, you know."

"That's nice of you to say. But we should hang out later this week! I owe you a birthday present."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Santana replied. "I don't-"

"No, I want to. I have a great idea, too. How about Thursday? Just drop by anytime after school and I'll be home." Quinn walked back to the door and unlocked it as she spoke. "And good luck with your painting; you're very talented."

"Thanks. And Thursday, yeah. I'll see you." Santana closed the door after her and went to pick up her phone as it buzzed. It was nice to get good feedback from a person who wasn't her art teacher. Or Rachel, for that matter. Speaking of.

_Rachel: I need you_

_Rachel: Like, now_

_Rachel: Please? Hello?_

_Santana: What's wrong?_

_Rachel: Oh thank goodness, I thought you were dead. I've been texting you for at least a minute_

_Rachel: You need to come over tonight and videotape my song_

_Rachel: I think my dads are biased cause I know I hit a wrong note this last time and they didn't even comment on it_

_Santana: Rach, I have so much stuff to do tonight. What about tomorrow instead?_

_Rachel: Really? Is your stuff more important than my entire future career?_

_Santana: Probably_

_Rachel: That had better have been sarcastic._

_Rachel: Fine, tomorrow. But you have to come with me right after school. This is critical_

_Santana: OK, I can do that. Take a breath, go eat something or take a nap before you practice again_

_Rachel: Yes, mother_

Santana snorted and tossed her phone aside. Being Rachel Berry's best friend was a full time job, but she had to be able to draw a line somewhere, and if she got this painting done plus the math problems, she'd be free to see Rachel tomorrow and Quinn later in the week without getting behind. She could do it all.

__________________________________

"No, not again; please Rachel." Santana let the camera fall beside her on the bed and flopped backwards. "You have seriously the worst taste in music. Why would you possibly choose that song for the concert?"

"I'll have you know that plenty of people love my versions of Celine Dion songs. She is a diva, and we have very similar vocal ranges. And Mr. Oppler has never complained about my song selections, so I don't see why you should."

"Yeah, well, Mr. Oppler also has to listen to the dozen horrible singers who sing at the school concerts; just because you sound good doesn't mean you should have free reign to sing horrible songs. I feel like my ears are bleeding."

"OK, OK, I get it, you don't appreciate my song. Well, thank you for suffering long enough to film-"

Santana sat up. "Come on, Rachel, you know you sounded great. You're a good performer, but if you would just let me introduce you to some new artists. Ilse is going to a concert at Ronnie's this weekend and I think you would probably like them."

Rachel made a face. "I highly doubt that I would like anything Ilse likes. We have nothing in common. I don't think you do either, by the way. Just because you like the same grungy second hand clothing stores doesn't mean you have to be friends with her."

"She's nice, really. Just a little, you know, blunt."

"Abrasive. Jerky. Jerk-face-y."

Santana laughed. "Yes, fine, she is jerk face-y. Moving on. What's your second song?"

Rachel turned to her desk and didn't respond. Santana watched with increasing suspicion as she seemed to make a show of organizing her papers. 

"Rach? Is something wrong? You were so excited to be a junior so you could claim two solo spots in the concerts this year; I have a clear memory of this conversation because it ended with you singing a full hour of Barbra Streisand at me. What's going on? Did Mr. Oppler change the rules?"

"No, no, I do have a second song. But, um, I feel like I've got a good handle on that one. I don't really need to practice it. So really, I guess we're done! Thanks for coming over, and I'll see you tomorrow – just give me the camera – Santana, give me the camera!"

Santana held the camera farther away. "No, Berry, there is something you're not telling me here. What's the second song? Why can't I hear it?"

Rachel sighed with irritation. "Do you have to know everything? Sometimes things happen in my life that you don't need to know about."

"No, I know everything. Except – oh, this is about a boy. You only keep boy things from me. So, what – you're going to serenade a boy? You gave your solo to a boy? You're doing a strip-tease?" 

"Shut up, that's ridiculous."

Santana leaned forward. "So it's not about a boy?"

Rachel blushed. 

"Right. Well, you don't have to tell me, then. I've got my ticket and I can just see whatever ridiculous thing you've cooked up with the rest of the non-best-friend audience next weekend." Santana stood up to set the camera down on Rachel's desk, and picked up her bag.

"No, San, come on. It's just – that's exactly why I didn't want to tell you! You would think I'm being stupid for doing this for a boy, when I really like him, and-" Rachel grabbed Santana's arm to keep her from opening the door, then took a step back.

Santana turned around and waited, feeling annoyed. 

"His name is Victor. He moved here from Wisconsin last month, and I've been getting to know him during choir. And we kind of had our first date last week, and I asked him to do a duet with me." Rachel pressed her lips together, looking nervous.

"And, what, you think I'll get mad at you for dating? Or for doing duets? What gave you the impression that I disapprove of any of that?" Santana sat back down, feeling uncomfortable. "I thought we did talk about everything."

Rachel sat beside her, looking close to tears. "I don't know, San. You never talk to me about boys either, so I thought maybe we had an unspoken agreement. I never know who you have a crush on, or if you're going on dates-"

"If I was going on dates, you would know!"

"Fine, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the date. But my point stands – we don't talk about dating. We talk about boys _I_ like, but you never talk about anyone. There must be someone you think is cute enough to mention to me, isn't there? I hated feeling like I couldn't talk to you about Victor, so if you're keeping things from me you shouldn't." Rachel leaned carefully against Santana's side, and Santana looked around the room to avoid her eyes.

"I don't know. The guys at school are OK looking but it's not like I _like_ -like any of them. They're just children. And you know I don't meet people outside of school. I just haven't met anyone I'm really interested in yet. But if I did, I would tell you. You do know everything that's going on with me."

Rachel sniffed quietly before speaking. "Alright. I'll just trust that you'll come to me when you do have someone to talk about. Promise?"

Santana held out her pinky solemnly. "Promise."

Rachel laughed shakily. "Good."

"So this duet."

"Yeah. He's a really good singer; like, not as good as me but we sound very good together. We're doing 'The Last Night of the World' from Miss Saigon, and he's even following my choreography."

"He sounds like a real keeper. Does this mean I've lost my date to the semi-formal?"

"Um, maybe? He hasn't asked me, but would it be horrible if he did? I could ask him to bring a friend, and we could double!" Rachel looked hopeful.

"No, don't worry about me. As long as you save me a dance or two, I suppose it's time for you to take a boy to a dance. You're getting all grown up on me, Berry."

"You'll meet the right guy sometime, San. You're hot, and smart, and talented. He'll turn up."

Santana smiled. "Yeah, of course. I know all that already."

Rachel laughed. "You're still my favorite person, you know that, right? And now that the secret is out, you might as well hear my duet, too. You can just sing the boy part for me for now." She stood up and got the backing track ready.

"Nope, I don't sing, nice try. You can have long, awkward silences in this performance. I'm OK with that." Santana relaxed back onto the bed, and accepted the camera when Rachel handed it back to her. "I've seen worse from you."

"Some best friend you are," Rachel retorted. "Alright, make sure the angle is right; I'm working on making my facial expressions as dramatic as possible. This is a very expressive song."

Santana rolled her eyes, and got the camera ready.

_________________________________

Santana knocked tentatively at the door of Quinn's apartment. She'd gotten home from school about half an hour earlier, but had felt too nervous to go right over. Although, she wasn't sure why she had felt so nervous; she'd been to Quinn's multiple times to do homework. Just because this time she didn't have any particular work to do didn't mean it would be weird to hang out with her. Not necessarily.

The door opened, and Quinn smiled as she let Santana in. "Welcome! Come on in, make yourself at home. I was just making myself an afternoon snack; would you like a smoothie? Just berries and milk, I think."

"Um, sure, thank you." Santana sat down carefully on the couch and waited for Quinn to return from the kitchen. She handed Santana a tall glass of pink smoothie and a straw, then settled beside her on the couch.

"So, tell me how things are going? What's new in the world of the last term of eleventh grade?" Quinn sipped slowly at her smoothie, and Santana tried her own before answering. 

"Oh, not much new, I think. We're working on final projects and papers in most of my classes now, although exams don't start for almost three weeks. End of year concert is this weekend, so I've been helping my friend Rachel rehearse."

"A concert, how exciting! And will you be in the concert as well?"

Santana snorted, then covered her mouth in embarrassment. "Sorry. Um, no. Performance isn't really my thing. I've got a ticket to go see it, but I don't sing or anything."

"Of course." Quinn looked amused, and Santana could feel her cheeks heating up. "So a concert, then exams?"

"Yeah. And the semi-formal, next weekend. The senior class isn't big enough to hold a full prom, so they always pair with the juniors for just a big dance instead. Rachel's been looking forward to it all year."

"You're not?" Quinn tilted her head.

Santana looked at her, surprised. "No, I am. I mean, it should be OK. We had planned to go together, but it's fine. I'll just, you know, do whatever."

"Rachel's not going with you anymore?"

"No." Santana huffed out a breath. Who else could she talk to about this? "We were going to, but apparently she's now dating this new guy, _dating_ ," she made sarcastic finger quotes. "She barely even knows him. I mean, plenty of people at school date each other, but Rachel and I were different. We were mature and reasonable and knew full well that no one that we go to school with would be an option. But suddenly she's got a boyfriend, I guess." She looked up at Quinn and blushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to unload on you. It's just news to me that Rachel even wanted to date anyone."

Quinn sipped at her smoothie again. "I can tell it's upsetting you. If you want to talk about it, I'm a pretty good listening ear."

"I'm not mad at her for dating. I just wish she had talked to me. It was kind of out of the blue." Santana looked back down at her lap. "Is that immature of me? I mean, I'm seventeen now. I probably shouldn't be surprised that my best friend wants to go to a dance with a boy instead of with me."

"It's not immature," Quinn reassured her. "Rachel's at a different stage from you, and that's OK. You don't need to be in a rush to find someone to date, or to be in relationships at all. Speaking from experience, sometimes relationships are more work and drama than they're worth. You're both young. It's OK if you wait."

"Did you date as a teenager?" Santana asked, still looking down at her lap. 

"I did, sometimes. I was kind of boy-crazy, but not all of my friends were. People vary, Santana. We work at different speeds. Your friend just happened to get to this particular milestone before you, but that doesn't mean that anything is wrong with you." Quinn stood up, carrying her empty glass to the kitchen, and Santana followed.

"Yeah, I guess. It's just weird to think that Rachel, who I've known basically my entire life, has things going on that I don't know about. She didn't even tell me she liked this guy. Why would she hide that from me?"

"Do you usually talk about boys?" Quinn rinsed out their glasses then leaned against the counter, facing Santana. "Maybe she didn't realize you would be open to hearing about her crush."

Santana frowned. "I thought we did, but I guess not. We talk as much about boys as about anything else. But the boys we know aren't very interesting, honestly. There's not much to say about them."

Quinn smiled. "That will probably change soon enough. They become a pretty big deal to lots of girls, and it seems like Rachel has hit that point. Now that she knows you're willing to talk about boys with her, she might open up more often. But be prepared to hear more than you necessarily want to know about what your friend is interested in. Someone else's mind can be a scary place."

"Right," Santana laughed. "Be careful what you wish for, I suppose."

"Exactly," Quinn said. "Now, far more important than boys and dances, I have your birthday present over here. Are you ready?"

Santana bit her lip, then nodded, and followed Quinn back to the living room. Quinn picked up an envelope from the coffee table and handed it to her, and Santana pulled the card out from inside. It was a normal looking birthday card, with flowers on the front, but Quinn had written a few short sentences inside. Santana read them, then grinned up at Quinn.

"Photography lessons? Really? That's so awesome, Quinn. Thank you." She tried to compose her face, but this was exciting. Her hand-me-down camera was still something of a mystery to her, so having an experienced photographer like Quinn show her the ropes would be fantastic.

"I thought you might like that. I can't promise I'll know everything, but I can at least show you some basics. Just let me know when you want to get started." Quinn looked pleased.

"Right now? Or, I guess I need to finish my history assignment. How about Sunday?" 

"Sunday would be just fine with me," Quinn answered. "Just come knock any time after lunch."

Santana held the card tightly and smiled back. "Perfect."


	5. Chapter 5

Santana leaned against the wall of the elevator and let her eyes close. It was almost midnight; even though the concert had ended much earlier, she had gone out for a late night supper with Rachel and Victor. Rachel's dads had sat at a table at the opposite end of the diner to give them the illusion of maturity, and they had ordered three courses and virgin cocktails and made far too much noise for such a small group. 

Victor had turned out to be alright. He had hardly batted an eye when Rachel talked almost without stopping for a breath during the ten minute walk, and had even looked more fond than horrified as she had listed off the special requirements for her order to the waitress. Most people took far longer than a few weeks to get past the shell-shocked and into the amused stage with Rachel.

Rachel had brought a copy of the concert program with her so they could do a piece-by-piece review, including detailed compliments about her own performances. Santana dutifully pointed out all the places other performers had made mistakes; in particular the singers from the senior class, who Rachel was very excited to be replacing in the coming year. She pretended not to notice when Rachel started holding Victor's hand under the table as she monologued about the duets they could do in next year's Christmas concert. 

But eventually they had had to cut off their dissection of the evening when Rachel's dads finished their last cups of decaf coffee and were ready to drive them all home. They had piled into the car for the short drive to Santana's building, Rachel promising to text her as soon as she got home so they could start coordinating outfits for the dance the following weekend.

Santana watched lethargically as the elevator door began to close, then blinked when a hand shot in to force it open again. A pause for the door to re-open fully, then Quinn walked in, followed by a guy.

"Good evening, Santana. You're out late."

Santana smoothed down her shirt self-consciously before replying. "You're out late yourself."

"Well, one of us is quite a bit older, remember. This is my friend Jordan. Jordan, Santana; my neighbour." Quinn reached out to hold the guy's hand, and Santana realized she had been staring and jerked her head up to look at his face instead. 

Jordan nodded at Santana, and she gave him a half-smile. He looked older than Quinn, she thought. Darker skin, maybe Middle Eastern? And gorgeous black hair. She looked away and fidgeted. Why was the elevator so slow tonight?

After approximately two years of silence, the door finally opened onto their floor, and Santana walked quickly toward her own door. Quinn called after her, "We're still on for tomorrow, right?"

Santana took a breath, and turned around. Quinn had her keys out, and Jordan's hand was now pressed against her lower back. "Yeah, tomorrow. Good night."

She got her door opened and rushed inside, remembering at the last moment to grab the door before it slammed. She locked the door and tossed her keys aside, then sat down heavily on her couch. 

What the hell was that? She had seen more PDA than that just between Rachel and Victor tonight, not to mention the dozens of couples she saw making out in the hallways any given week. So why had seeing this guy touch Quinn so casually made her feel sick to her stomach?

Or maybe that was attraction. Santana had once done some brief research into what it felt like to be attracted to someone, but none of the websites she had found had been able to explain it well enough. She certainly had felt awkward. But nausea probably wasn't a good indicator of a crush. Jordan was handsome, yes. But so were plenty of other guys she knew. 

She took a deep breath and tried to relax her muscles. Now there was no way she was sleeping. Maybe a shower would at least get the knots out of her stomach, and then she would be able to fall asleep later. Quinn probably wouldn't be sleeping either – _no, Santana, stop it._ She couldn't follow that line of thought and expect to have any peace. She might as well just pretend she hadn't seen them. Yes, that was the ideal plan.

_________________________________

Santana ran to the subway door and managed to get in just before it closed. Her stupid history teacher had asked her to stay after class to discuss her final paper, and now she was going to be late getting to Rachel's, and then Rachel was going to complain about being late to her hair appointment, and the whole evening was going to suck.

Fridays were her worst day for scheduling. She had the later lunch period, and then history in the final class slot, and her teacher never managed to finish lecturing on time. When she had art final period, she was always able to leave as soon as the bell rang, if she wanted to. But today Mr. Erikson had lots to say about the Industrial Revolution, _and_ he wanted to talk about the points she was making in her draft paper she'd handed in last week. Didn't teachers want to get home quickly on Fridays, too? 

She held onto the post in the subway car and tried to run through her plan for the evening. If there were no delays, she could probably be home by 4:30. Pick up her dress and makeup bag, and then a twenty minute walk to Rachel's. Except she should probably eat something – Rachel was notoriously bad for being too nervous to eat, but if Santana stopped at the market and at least brought snack foods, they might make it through the dance without anyone passing out from hunger. Then getting dressed, doing makeup, getting to the hairdresser, and the dance wasn't starting until eight. As long as nothing went horribly wrong, she should be fine.

Three hours later, Santana was regretting everything. She hated her dress, she hated this salon, and most of all she hated Rachel Berry.

She pressed her lips tightly together and tried not to move her head much. The stylist was still adding bobby pins at the back, making sure her curls would stay in place, and she didn't really want to get jabbed. 

"It was a favor! It wasn't supposed to be a big deal! You don't have to date him; just dance a couple times with him and everyone's happy!" Rachel sounded frantic, and Santana glared at her in the mirror.

"You are setting me up on a blind date an hour before the dance. In what world did you think I would be OK with this?"

"It's not really _blind_ , though, is it? I mean, Eric has been in school with us forever. We go to his summer parties. You know his mother." Santana narrowed her eyes, and Rachel seemed to backtrack. "But yes, it's kind of date-like, I guess, if you're looking at it that way. But not in any sort of permanent way. It's just a dance. He and Victor were talking about it, and I thought maybe it would be nice to do the double-date thing – Victor's got a car picking us up and everything so we don't even have to get a drive from his parents. Wouldn't it be nice to go as a group?"

The stylist sprayed Santana's hair and took a step back, and Santana took the opportunity to turn fully in her chair to face Rachel. "But it's not a group, Rachel! It's a date, with a guy I have no interest in, that I have no way of getting out of because they are coming _right here_ in ten minutes! I _told_ you I was going by myself. You had no right to interfere in my life!"

"Well, maybe if you just started dating someone you would _cheer up_ , god, Santana." Rachel crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. "It's fun! This is what people do in high school. They date other people. You are just dead set on being alone and miserable, and as your friend I want to _help_ you."

"What in the world makes you think that I'm miserable?" Santana nearly yelled. "Do I seem unhappy? Until right this moment, I was having a great time. And then you take over and assume that I must want exactly what you want. Perfect Rachel, only her life is the way a life should be. Why can't we all be _just like you_?" She went to rub her hands over her eyes, then remembered all the makeup and clenched her fists in frustration. 

Rachel seemed to deflate. "Why are we fighting so much these days? I hate this."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I can see you're all broken up about always getting your way."

"You know what I mean, Santana. High school is supposed to be fun, right? Aren't we supposed to enjoy spending time with each other, and with other people, and figuring out what we want to do with our lives?" She sat down in the spinning chair beside Santana's. The stylist was nowhere to be seen.

"High school isn't everything. Maybe we're growing up." Santana thought about Quinn, and the friends she had lost when she changed her life plans. "Just because we've been friends forever doesn't mean that we're the same people."

"Don't say that, San." Rachel was tearing up, and Santana felt bad immediately, though no less angry.

"Come on, don't cry. We're not breaking up as friends. I just need you to accept that sometimes I want different things than you do, and that that's normal. You can't plan my life for me." She took Rachel's hand. "You are my best friend, but you're not my mother. Thank god." Rachel giggled wetly, and Santana smiled. 

"I really like him, Santana. I honestly just wanted us to share a fun experience like going to a fancy dance with our dates. I didn't think about whether you wanted it, too."

"I was going to share the dance with you anyway. You know I have any terrible 1990s song claimed to dance with you. I didn't need a guy to have fun. I can't expect you to turn into a relaxed and easy-going person, but next time you take over, at least talk to me first? So I can tell you you're being crazy." Santana handed Rachel a tissue, which she took with a smile.

"I promise. Do you need me to call Victor and cancel everything? They're probably on their way here already, but I will. I don't want you mad at me all night."

Santana thought about it. "No, they might as well still come. But it's not a date. We're sharing a ride, but that's all. If he brings me a corsage, I'm selling it for drug money."

"Shut up, Santana. Someone's going to think you're serious someday, and you'll go to jail."

"They'll have to catch me first. Let me fix your eyeliner; you look ridiculous."

_________________________________

Santana waited for Paulo, the night doorman, to buzz her into the building later that night. She waved at him as she walked to the elevator, and went up to her floor.

The dance hadn't been a total disaster. Eric had clearly been warned about the change in circumstances by the time Santana had made it out to the car, and was friendly but wary. He had asked her to dance one slow song, which she had accepted carefully, but he had kept his distance and chatted casually through the song. She had danced a few other slow songs with boys from her class and one or two seniors, and Rachel had been very good at sticking close to her whenever she wasn't attached at the lips to Victor. Apparently they were doing just fine for two weeks of dating. 

She got to her door and opened up the small bag she had brought with her to Rachel's, reaching in for her keys. Santana fumbled around for a moment, finding her mini wallet, some lip gloss, and the earrings she'd taken off earlier, but no keys. _Damn it_. She dumped the whole bag onto the floor to make sure – crap, she must have left them at Rachel's with the clothes she'd been wearing before. She'd have to get Paulo to let her in. She sighed. People with parents who lived at home more than a few days per month probably didn't have this problem.

Santana started putting things back into her bag, then heard the elevator coming. Perfect timing. She turned toward the elevator as the door opened, and saw the back of a blonde head. Quinn. Again. 

She thought quickly, then ran to the stairwell, opening the door quietly, hoping that Quinn and her date were sufficiently distracted by each other not to hear her footsteps. Santana walked a few steps down, then changed her mind and went back up. She wanted to see what this guy looked like. 

She carefully pulled the door open a crack so she could see the hallway, and watched as Quinn walked out of the elevator, followed by a tall blonde girl. Santana blinked. She shouldn't be so surprised that Quinn would bring a friend home with her, she supposed, but she hadn't seen Quinn bring anyone home except dates until now. 

But then Quinn stopped in front of her apartment door and, without unlocking it, turned back to face the girl and reached her hands up to frame her face and started kissing her. Santana gasped, and covered her mouth to muffle it. The blonde girl kissed Quinn back, and pushed her against the door, leaning her head down slightly. She ran her hands down Quinn's sides, then reached one hand up to tangle slightly in her hair. She pulled away from Quinn and whispered something in her ear, then began undoing the buttons on Quinn's jacket. Quinn leaned her head back against the door and gave a low, throaty laugh. 

Santana felt her stomach roiling, and her breathing sped up. Was she too loud? Could they hear her? But it didn't seem like it. Quinn was now kissing the other girl along her chin, then down her neck, as the girl got her hands inside Quinn's jacket, and then under her shirt. Quinn arched her back, and the girl smiled and kissed her on the lips again. Santana sucked in a breath and held it. She couldn't look away, and she felt hot and tingly. After a minute, Quinn pulled away, tugging her jacket back onto her shoulders and pulling out a set of keys. The other girl stayed close, pressing against her side as Quinn unlocked the door and let them both into the apartment. Santana waited until the door was closed before she let the stairwell door fall shut. She felt jittery, and still too hot, and what the hell just happened?

She ran down the three flights of stairs, past Paulo, and out onto the street. Cold air, that would help her. It was past eleven; her parents would be furious if they knew she was out wandering New York this late on a Friday night, but she couldn't go back inside; she just couldn't. Where could she go instead? She leaned against the front window of her building and considered her options. 

It was too late to go to the park, or the library, or anywhere like that. Rachel would be home by now, but she'd have to take the subway to get there, and that just wasn't happening. She felt trapped.

Santana walked back to the doorway, and waved at Paulo as he buzzed her back in.

"Sorry about that. Um, I seem to have left my keys at my friend's house. Could you let me in?"

A few minutes later, Santana was safely inside her apartment. She walked automatically into her room and started getting ready for bed, her mind racing. 

Was Quinn a lesbian? But she had seen her with those guys before. Maybe she was bisexual. Maybe she was experimenting. Maybe they were over in Quinn's apartment right now, and the girl had finished undressing her, and was kissing down her neck again – shit.

Santana started pulling pins out of her hair, then washed her makeup off. She pulled off her dress and put on a tank top to sleep in, then paced around her room, unable to settle. What was wrong with her tonight? Was this all that different from seeing Quinn go home with guys on other days? But she still felt tight and jittery, like she didn't quite fit in her skin. And low in her stomach she also felt – what? Turned on? 

What was wrong with her?

She sat down on the edge of her bed and pressed her hand over her pussy, through her briefs. Oh my god, I am, I'm turned on. She flopped onto the bed and flung her arm over her face. This was ridiculous. Had it been Quinn all along, then? Was she gay? But she hadn't felt turned on any other time – was it this new girl, then? Santana pictured Quinn alone, then with one of the guys from another day. Nothing special. She added the girl back into her mental picture, pressing against Quinn who was leaning against the door frame with her jacket unbuttoned, her eyes closed and lips parted.

_Yeah._

Shit.


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you OK, Santana?"

Santana flinched, then turned from where she had been looking out the window. "What?"

Rachel frowned. "You've been very quiet today. Are you still mad about the dance? Just tell me what I can do to make it up to you." She was sitting at her desk with a YouTube video open, and appeared to have been waiting for Santana to join her.

"No, it's not about that. I mean, it's nothing. Just tired." Santana walked over to sit on the edge of Rachel's bed so she could see the screen. "Zoned out. What's going on?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes but allowed the change of subject. "I asked you what you thought about this song for my last vocal masterclass. I'll play it again."

Santana watched listlessly as the performance, clearly recorded from back seats at a Broadway show, played on the screen. She had definitely tuned Rachel out; she'd been going on about her upcoming date with Victor, and Santana hadn't had the energy to care. She was still replaying the scene with Quinn and the blonde girl from the night before and trying to decipher her own feelings. Maybe it wasn't a gay thing. Maybe she was just upset about Quinn kissing a girl? Maybe this was normal.

Maybe she should ask Rachel.

Rachel looked at her expectantly when the video ended, and Santana tried to remember anything at all about the song. "Yeah, that totally suits you. I like it," she said lamely. 

How could she even bring it up? _Say, Rachel, have you ever watched girls making out and kind of wished you could join in? Hey, Rachel, I think I have a crush on a girl; do you have any experience on how to navigate this particular minefield? So, Rachel, would you mind kissing me a bit right now, just so I can find out if I like kissing girls?_

Rachel was still watching her, and Santana flushed, hoping none of her thoughts were showing on her face. "Have you found a practice track yet? I could watch you try it."

"Are you sure you're alright? You know you can talk to me about anything."

Santana shook her head quickly. "No, it's nothing. What about a movie? I need something mindless, if that's OK."

Rachel nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure. You know where my DVDs are; you can choose something."

Santana walked to the shelves and read through the titles. Definitely not a romance.

__________________________________

The smell of fresh baking filled the coffee shop, and Santana resisted the urge to close her eyes to better appreciate the scents as she waited in line. It was nearing the end of classes for the year, and she had stayed in the art studio for nearly two hours after the final bell trying to get her sculpture ready for firing. She could get it into the kiln tomorrow before lunch, and then she would be all but done her art class. But tonight she still needed to do the review questions for the last six chapters of calculus, as their teacher tried to get them ready for the final exam. She was going to reward herself first with an indulgent coffee of some sort before going home and getting started, because her brain felt shot.

She let her eyes drift over the cookies and muffins in the display case, then turned to watch the rest of the room. The person in front of her seemed to be ordering four different drinks, judging by the juggling act the cashier was trying to manage with different cups, and she sighed slightly. She was ready to be home, to take her uncomfortable shoes off, to settle onto the couch with her textbook.

Santana jolted from her daydreaming and turned quickly to face the front counter. Blonde hair, tall boots, pale dress. That sure looked like Quinn sitting two tables away from her and facing the window. Maybe if she just didn't look at the seating area, and ran out after getting her coffee, she would be spared talking to her. 

She placed her order at the counter and quickly walked down to the pick-up area, watching Quinn out of the corner of her eye. She had re-lived the scene in the hallway more times than she could count since the weekend, catching herself warming up or breathing heavier at the most inconvenient times. Like while standing on the subway, or trying to shape a particularly intricate section of her sculpture. And avoiding Quinn in the building had become essential. Santana couldn't imagine what might show on her face if she had to talk to Quinn; even now she could feel her cheeks heating up. 

"Santana? Caramel macchiato for Santana?"

Santana looked quickly over her shoulder, cursing at herself. She should have given a fake name. Why did this barista have to have such a loud voice? "Thanks, got it." She carefully picked up her cup and attached a lid, then started walking to the door, keeping her eyes downcast. Ten feet to the door, eight feet, six – 

"Oh, I thought I heard your name." Crap. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Santana turned around and tried to drum up a smile. "Hey, Quinn; didn't see you there." She looked back at the entrance, trying to convey the impression that she was in a hurry.

"Just doing a bit of reading. Care to join me?" Quinn patted the upholstered chair sitting opposite her, moving a small stack of papers.

No, not at all, Santana thought. But she walked back to the chairs and sat down anyway, awkwardly holding her cup of coffee in front of her like a shield. "Thanks."

There was a moment of silence as Santana stared fixedly at her cup. She was not going to be able to start a conversation. After a short eternity, Quinn spoke again.

"Are you alright, sweetie? You seem tense."

Santana gave in and looked at Quinn. She was sitting with her ankles crossed, a book closed on her lap, her head tilted slightly. Santana wondered if the girl from the weekend was still at her apartment, and hated herself a little. "Exams coming up and stuff. My life is just a bit chaotic these days."

Quinn nodded, and Santana wanted to yell at her. _Stop being understanding! I'm being rude; I'm being a smart-ass on purpose; just get mad or something!_ She pressed her lips together and looked back at her lap. "Actually, I shouldn't stay. I have lots of homework still."

"Sure, absolutely. I'm heading home soon; did you want to drop by and do some of your work at my place? I know you don't always like silence."

Santana shook her head quickly, and stood up. "No, um, no thanks. I'm on a roll. And I don't want to interrupt your evening."

Quinn reached a hand out and touched Santana's wrist lightly as she started walking away. "Are you sure everything is alright, Santana? You know you can talk to me."

Santana didn't trust herself to respond. _Who the hell was that girl? Why did you do this to me? I was fine before you came along._ She nodded briefly, faking a smile, and left the coffee shop. 

Standing outside, Santana took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder, feeling herself tearing up. Was there something wrong with her? She needed to get home.

__________________________________

Her laptop sat on the dining room table, and Santana leaned against the wall, as far away from it as possible without leaving the room. She had opened a tab, started typing a search query, and immediately started hyperventilating and had had to go for a walk around the apartment. Now, standing and facing the screen, Santana tried to get herself back under control.

She was strong. She was smart. She was curious. This didn't have to be a search about _her_ ; she was just investigating things in general. Keep it impersonal. 

Deep breath.

Santana sat back down at the table and pulled the computer toward her. Her search results sat there, staring back at her, unchanged. "How to tell if I'm a lesbian" in large black letters at the top, and a dozen blue-underlined links below.

She skimmed the titles. Help sites, advocacy, advice. Oh, a quiz – that sounded better. She clicked the link and began reading the questions, but closed the tab in disgust when the questions were all ridiculous. "Do you get tingly when a girl hugs you" was a stupid way to tell if you were gay. She picked another site.

After about ten minutes of skimming through advice, Santana was frustrated. How in the world was she supposed to know if she was attracted to a girl? Was that she had felt on the weekend, all hot and tight and angry? Because it hadn't been pleasurable; it had been upsetting. 

She had a new idea. She opened up a new tab, and clicked the "Image" search, then typed in "lesbian couple."

The screen filled with thumbnail photos of happy looking women in pairs, holding hands or hugging or in wedding dresses. That wasn't what she was looking for at all, so she tried again. "Lesbian sex."

She closed the tab with a gasp. This time the thumbnails had been half-naked girls wrapped up in each other. Not ready. She was not ready to be looking at naked people – and oh god, her browser history. 

Santana did a search for how to erase her browser history and followed the steps, feeling like a criminal. Her parents had bought her this computer so that she could do school work and stay in touch with them, not so that she could look up pornography while they were out of town. Not that her parents would have any idea how to check browser history. But she wasn't taking any chances.

She shut down her computer and leaned back against the chair. How did other people do this? Was there an easy, one-step method for figuring out your sexual orientation? How come this hadn't been covered in her sex ed class? She knew all about the reproductive organs and how to put on a condom, but had no idea how to tell who you actually wanted to sleep with. 

Wait, she had had this conversation recently, hadn't she? With Rachel! Rachel and the guy from NYADA, and Rachel had said that she knew the guy had been interested in her. How could she tell? God, this was basic information, wasn't it? Had there been a memo go out to all of the students that Santana had just missed, explaining sexual attraction and flirtation and how to read body language and how to tell if you wanted to make out with your neighbour or if you just objected to her making out with other people.

Santana pressed hard against her closed eyes. It was time for her to get ready for bed anyway, but she was not feeling anywhere near relaxed enough to sleep. Being a teenager was stressful enough on the best of days, and today was not her best day. This whole week had been shitty, honestly.

She got up and went into her room, then changed into some pyjamas and climbed into bed. New strategy. She conjured up a mental image of herself. Imaginary Santana stood there, waved a bit, and waited. She created a faceless guy, making him walk onto the screen behind her eyelids. Imaginary Santana waited for this guy to get close, then kissed him. Huh.

She frowned and imagined it again. Now the guy grabbed her tight and really made out with her; pushed her against the side of the elevator (wait, when had this turned into an elevator?) and ran his hands up and down her sides. Imaginary Santana didn't argue, just let herself be moved around, be kissed. She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling. Anything? She was able to picture it easily enough, but it wasn't making her heart race, and it certainly wasn't turning her on. But it was just a fantasy; that didn't necessarily mean anything.

So she restarted the scene, and created a faceless girl. This time the girl kissed imaginary Santana, pressed her against the wall, pushed her body close, ran her hands down the side of imaginary Santana's face. Imaginary Santana responded; pushing one leg between the girl's legs, tugging her hands into the girl's scalp, holding onto her blonde hair. Maybe she would flip them around, kiss down the side of the girl's face, get to her neck, run her hands down her back –

Santana sat upright. Her throat was dry, her chest was heaving, and her mental image of Quinn kissing her in the elevator wasn't fading away. Imaginary Santana and Quinn were enthusiastic, and she rubbed her eyes with her fingers, trying to stop thinking about them. She felt hot, and clenched the muscles of her vagina, feeling her hips push upward at nothing, frustrated. 

That didn't have to mean anything. Fantasies weren't the same as actual attraction. It's not like she could act on it with Quinn, anyway. It was a non-issue.

__________________________________

Ben handed back the stack of papers. "It looks great to me, Santana. I can't claim to know much about the use of technology in Europe in, what, the 1800s. But you seem to have covered it well?"

Santana half-smiled. "And you didn't see any glaring typos? Any words that I made up? Any complete nonsense?" She leaned against the front desk and flipped through her five page history paper. "I feel like I've looked at this so many times that I'm not a good judge of any of it."

"Not that I saw. But I'm not the best person to ask – why don't you ask Ms. Fabray to read it? I think that's her getting out of the cab now." Ben nodded his head toward the street, and Santana turned to face the door, feeling panicked.

Sure enough, there was Quinn with a small rolling suitcase walking toward the main door. Ben buzzed her in, and she came toward them. Santana tried to collect her thoughts. She had managed to avoid Quinn for a few more days, mostly because Quinn had gone out of town for most of the weekend. They hadn't exchanged more than a few words since Santana had run out on her at the coffee shop, and Quinn seemed to have picked up that Santana was staying away from her. But there was no avoiding this interaction.

Ben spoke first. "Welcome back, Ms. Fabray. I hope your trip was a success?"

"Thank you, Ben," Quinn responded politely. "I was just visiting some friends back in Ohio, but I do feel a bit refreshed now."

"Santana and I were just talking about your writing skills, you know. She's got a paper due tomorrow and asked me to proof-read, but I have a hunch that you are more qualified than I am." Ben winked at Santana, and she tried to smile back, feeling sick to her stomach. 

Quinn looked over at Santana and raised her eyebrows. "Did you want me to read it, Santana? You can leave it with me and I'll get it back to you later tonight, if you'd like."

No, she would _not_ like, except she really wanted a good grade on this paper, and Santana knew full well how smart Quinn was. She would probably give really useful feedback, and being embarrassed and ashamed and awkward was not a good enough reason to do poorly at school. 

"Would you mind? I can give you this copy." Santana held out the papers, then flushed. "Sorry, your hands are full. I'll follow you upstairs; I need to get home anyway."

"Perfect, a happy ending all around," Ben said with a grin. "Have a wonderful evening, ladies."

Santana followed Quinn to the elevator, and waited as she settled her suitcase in before pushing the button for the fourth floor. As the doors closed, Santana suddenly realized she did _not_ want to be there. All the images of Quinn kissing that girl came flooding back to her, and she stared at the ground.

"Santana, forgive me if I'm overstepping here, but it really seems like something is wrong. I know you were avoiding me last week, but it makes me worried that you can't even look at me now. Did I do something?" Quinn sounded concerned, which only made Santana feel more guilty.

The elevator door opened on their floor, and Santana escaped, taking in a gulp of air. What could she say? _Sorry I've been weird around you; my sexual fantasies of you and I together are kind of taking over slash ruining my life._

"There's just some stuff going on," she replied, lamely. "It's nothing you did."

"Do you want to talk about it? Like I said, I'm a good ear, and it's hard to shock me." Quinn unlocked her apartment door but didn't go inside. 

Santana looked at her. That was a good point. It's not like she could call up her parents and ask them for sex advice, not without forcing one or both of them to fly back home for the inevitable family therapy sessions. And Rachel seemed open about sex, but sex with girls was definitely outside her areas of expertise. Same with Ilse, who had been with the same boy for at least two years, and to the best of Santana's knowledge hadn't so much as kissed a girl.

Not that Santana had, either, but it certainly seemed that she wanted to. Quinn might be the perfect person to talk to. She was experienced, and smart, and knew basically everything else Santana had ever asked about. Quinn had never been anything except supportive of Santana, and she really felt that she could trust her. She took a breath.

"Please." She pressed her lips closed again immediately, not wanting to blurt everything out in the hallway, and Quinn seemed to notice. She led Santana into her apartment, and guided her toward the couch. She disappeared for a moment, then returned with two glasses of water, handing one to Santana. Then she sat down beside her on the couch and waited quietly.

Santana took a few small sips of the water, gathering her thoughts. Was there any good way to open this conversation? 

"I saw you, with that girl." Santana shook her head. "No, that's not what I wanted to say. I mean, I did see you. The other weekend, kissing a girl in the hall. But it's not your fault. It just – I don't know what happened. But now it's all confusing, and there's no one to talk to, and you always seem so together, and –" She cut off, feeling her throat closing up. 

Quinn moved closer on the couch and touched Santana's arm gently. "It's OK, honey. Take a breath; you have all the time in the world."

Santana dragged in a painful breath and regrouped, not looking at Quinn. "How do you know, then? How do you know if you're gay?"

Quinn squeezed her arm. "I can't answer that question for you; it's different for everyone. But I can tell you about me, if you'd like?"

"But you're not, are you?" Santana interrupted. "You date guys, too."

"That's true. I wouldn't call myself a lesbian, but I am interested in girls as well. I identify as more pansexual, which for me means that gender doesn't really play a role in who I'm attracted to." 

Santana turned to face Quinn. "But how do you know? Because I saw you! You were kissing her, and all I wanted was to be there, to be kissing someone, and I felt hot and angry and turned on, and now I can't stop thinking about it." Tears started spilling over onto her cheeks, but she couldn't stop talking. "Everyone else just knows what they're doing, and even Rachel has a boyfriend, and I'm some sort of freak! I liked boys, I know I liked boys, but now I don't anymore. Except maybe I didn't! I assumed that I liked boys, but they've never made me feel like this, like I want _more_ , like there's this tension inside me that is trying to _snap_ but it just won't, and –"

Quinn wrapped her arms around Santana, and she gave in and sobbed. She let her head drop onto Quinn's shoulder, sparing a brief thought for the nice blouse she was now covering in tears and probably snot, and cried for everything that was wrong in her life. 

After a few moments, Santana's tears quieted, and she could hear Quinn softly repeating, "Shh, sweetheart; it's all OK, shh." She sniffled and sat up slightly, her arms limp in her lap.

"I'm sorry to bother you with all of this. I just didn't know who to go to, and I've been so confused, and there's so much happening at school, and it all just piled up on me." Santana rubbed roughly at her face.

"You could never bother me, sweetie," Quinn reassured her. "I'm so sorry that you've been feeling this way; it sounds like you've had a difficult time."

Santana nodded, feeling her tears well up again. This time she turned into Quinn fully and wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing her face into Quinn's neck as she wept raggedly. She could feel Quinn rubbing her back, and tried to time her breaths to the movement of Quinn's hand, breathing in as her hand moved up her back, and out as it moved down. 

"You're OK, love; you’re going to be just fine." Quinn was again murmuring softly as Santana calmed herself down, and Santana smiled into Quinn's neck, feeling grateful. She nuzzled her nose along the skin of Quinn's shoulder, then kissed the side of her neck, just a small press of her lips. 

Santana froze. Had Quinn noticed that? The picture of Quinn kissing the girl's neck in the hallway had been in the back of her mind so much, and Quinn smelled so good. She untangled her arms from Quinn's and sat up carefully, staring at Quinn worriedly.

But Quinn gently took Santana's face between her hands. "You are OK. There is nothing wrong with you," she said, then she kissed Santana full on the lips. 

Santana gasped into the kiss, her mouth falling open. She felt nervous, but pressed her lips back to Quinn's, wanting more, not knowing what she wanted. She hesitantly put her hand to the side of Quinn's face, drawing her closer. 

They kissed a few seconds longer, then Quinn pulled back. Santana blinked slowly, watching Quinn's face. The silence lengthened, and Santana started to fold in on herself, feeling ashamed. What was she doing? Quinn had no interest in her; she had kissed her in friendship, and Santana had just jumped her. What kind of idiot was she?

But as Santana turned to get up, Quinn touched her shoulder, then her chin, turning Santana's face back to her own. Then Quinn leaned in and kissed her again, this time with intent, tilting Santana's head to make the angle perfect. Santana moaned into her mouth, then felt Quinn's tongue gently pushing forward, and opened her mouth wider to accept it.

Santana felt her body relaxing as Quinn kissed her, and let her mind float; feeling the pleasurable sensations without worrying about what to do next. But then Quinn pulled back again. Santana whined quietly and opened her eyes, then licked her lips.

She looked at Quinn's mouth, and leaned in slightly. "Please?"

Quinn smiled slowly, then nodded. "Yeah. Come with me." She stood up, holding Santana's hand, and led her to the bedroom. She turned on a lamp, then sat down on the edge of the bed. 

Santana trailed behind her, and paused a moment before sitting down. Now what? She looked at Quinn out of the corner of her eye, swallowing. No, she wanted to do this. Santana turned to face Quinn and leaned in to kiss her. She felt Quinn's lips turn up as if she was smiling as they kissed, then started as she lost her balance. "Oh!"

"Sorry, sweetheart; I just thought lying down might be more comfortable?" Quinn laughed lightly and moved to the other side of the bed, lying down and facing Santana. Santana matched her pose, leaned up on one elbow. "Much better. You're a very beautiful girl, you know."

Santana blushed and looked down. "Not compared to you."

"Oh, little one, you have no idea, do you? Heads turn in the street when you go out. You could have your choice of partners, but you don't even notice." Quinn let her hand trail down Santana's arm to her hand, resting on the bed. Santana felt goosebumps rising on the skin Quinn touched and shivered. 

"Kiss me? Please?" She licked her lips again, feeling nervous. 

"Anytime." Quinn's eyes were hooded as she leaned towards Santana, then leaned over her and pressed her into the bed as they kissed. Santana tried to regulate her breathing and wondered what she should do with her hands. She settled for wrapping them lightly around Quinn's shoulders, trying not to apply any pressure, and felt a rumble as Quinn seemed to hum happily.

After a few minutes, Santana felt her body warming up, tingling sensations beginning low in her stomach. She let her hands explore Quinn's shoulders and back a bit more, then wandered down to her hip. Quinn let her weight fall back onto one arm and looked down at Santana. "You are very distracting, love. Let's get you more comfortable. OK?" 

Santana nodded, feeling shy. "And you?"

"Of course." Quinn began unbuttoning the blouse she was wearing, then tossed it off the side of the bed before reaching for Santana's t-shirt. Santana sat up slightly so Quinn could pull her shirt over her head, then crossed her arms automatically over her breasts. She felt like such a child – her bra was pink with white polka dots. _Embarrassing_. 

Quinn leaned back down and kissed her again, this time letting her body settle over Santana's. Santana writhed ( _I can feel her skin, it's right against mine, oh my god_ ) and kissed back fervently. This was what she had been thinking about ever since that weekend, about being this close to Quinn. She pulled her arms out from between their bodies so she could touch Quinn's sides carefully, and Quinn seemed to take it as permission to do the same.

Quinn knelt up on the bed, her knees bracketing Santana's hips, and braced herself on one hand, allowing the other to explore Santana's stomach and chest, not going very near her breasts. Santana slowed down her own touches, waiting for Quinn to get close, but her hand kept passing by without making contact. Was it the bra? Santana twisted her upper body slightly, trying to get Quinn to touch her, and Quinn laughed into her mouth and pulled back a little. "You are an impatient one, sweetheart." She sat back on her knees and pulled Santana up to a sitting position, kissing down her face and neck. 

Santana tilted her head back to give better access to her neck, thinking again about the blonde girl. Then she noticed Quinn was pulling her bra down her arms, and she hadn't even felt her unhooking it. Santana huffed out a laugh and moved her arms so the straps could slip off, and let Quinn push her gently back to the bed. Feeling the air cool on her breasts, Santana watched Quinn watching her. Her breathing sped up and she was suddenly very aware of the movement of her stomach as she breathed. 

"Beautiful," Quinn murmured. She leaned down above Santana and kissed her briefly, then moved on to kiss down her throat and towards her breasts. Santana closed her eyes, feeling the damp brush of Quinn's lips move closer, feeling her own breathing become less even. Then Quinn kissed over the sensitive skin of her breast, and Santana gasped. It was like a release of energy; finally having Quinn touching her after days of being on edge; she was practically ready to cry again.

Quinn continued to kiss gently around Santana's torso and chest, and brought one hand up to Santana's nipple where she softly rubbed and then suddenly _flicked_ , making Santana's back arch. Santana tried to wriggle her hips around on the bed, but Quinn's knees were blocking their movement, and she whined. Quinn paused in her exploration of Santana's breasts, and Santana opened her eyes to look at her.

"Still OK, little one?" Quinn's lips were reddened and wet, her cheeks flushed. Santana didn't answer right away. _Was that me? Am I really doing that?_

"So OK," she breathed out. Quinn smiled, and Santana felt like the luckiest person in the world.

Quinn tweaked her other nipple briefly, then sat back and began unbuttoning Santana's jeans. Santana resisted the urge to cover her breasts again, biting her bottom lip and watching Quinn's face instead of her hands. She lifted her hips obligingly so Quinn could pull her jeans off, leaving her matching pink and white panties on. Then Quinn moved so she had one knee between Santana's legs and one to the side, and leaned back towards her. Santana lifted her mouth for a kiss, and wrapped her arms around Quinn's shoulders to keep her there, right where she wanted her.

Santana felt bold, sucking on Quinn's tongue in her mouth, letting her hands run over Quinn's shoulder and up to her neck, and hummed with approval when Quinn returned to touching and rubbing her nipples. She rolled her hips around, and found Quinn's thigh right there – _perfect_. She rubbed her pussy over Quinn's thigh, through her panties and Quinn's pants, but still so good. Her grip on Quinn's shoulders relaxed, and Quinn shifted, pressing her thigh back toward Santana and kissing down her body again. Santana tightened her stomach muscles and let her body rock back and forth, her back arching. She kept her eyes closed, gasping out with surprise when Quinn bit her gently on the side of her stomach. 

"Are you still awake up there?" Quinn asked.

Santana laughed breathily. "Can't you tell?"

"Just checking, sweetie." Quinn kissed over the spot she had bitten and continued her apparent quest to touch all of Santana's upper body with her mouth. Santana was just fine with the quest, and felt Quinn making her way back up toward her head. 

"So good, Quinn," she said, encouragingly. "Don't stop?"

"I'm not, it's OK. Just wanted to be close to you here." Quinn gave her a lopsided kiss and lay back beside her, up on one arm, letting her other hand trail over Santana's stomach and hips. "You're doing so well, sweetheart."

Santana smiled, not sure how to reply. She let one hand drift down to cover Quinn's, which was tickling around the side of her hip, and guided it lower, towards her panties. 

Quinn followed the movement of their hands with her eyes, then met Santana's gaze. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," Santana replied. Then she took her hand away and let her head fall back onto the pillow.

She felt Quinn's hand move down over her panties, lightly dancing over her pussy, pushing harder where the cloth was already wet. She rubbed down slightly, and Santana raised her hips to meet her fingers. Quinn kissed Santana's shoulder, and pushed her panties down her legs, then let her hand rest over her pubic mound without moving. Her hand felt warm, pressing down over the trimmed hair, the tips of her fingers just touching where her labia were swollen and wet. 

Santana shifted impatiently. "Please?"

Quinn started moving her hand. Santana could feel her fingers slipping between her lips, rubbing at the damp skin. Her fingers skirted past Santana's clit, making circular motions near her hole before moving back up beside her clit. Santana's hips jolted, and Quinn seemed to get the hint as she started making smaller circles around Santana's clit. 

Santana felt her muscles clenching, and brought one of her hands down to her own breast, pushing and twisting at the sensitive skin. Quinn was still touching the skin around and beside her clit, and she could feel her breath speeding up. Then Quinn moved her fingers down, and gently pushed one into Santana's pussy. Santana tilted her hips up for better access, pressing her mouth closed firmly, wanting to moan. She opened her eyes in surprise when Quinn kissed her again.

"I want to hear you, honey. Come on." Santana watched as Quinn turned back to watch her own hand moving in Santana's pussy. 

Santana breathed in deeply and let out the air in a rush as Quinn added a second finger. "Please, oh please," she begged, not sure what she was asking for. But Quinn seemed to understand her, moving her fingers confidently before removing them and returning to Santana's clit. Santana nodded, her eyes falling closed again. "Yeah, oh god."

Quinn pressed small kisses to Santana's shoulder and chin and forehead, circling around her clit with increased speed, pushing down just so perfectly. Santana tilted her head back, her mouth opening in a whine, and she came suddenly, her hips twitching, her hand still moving restlessly over her own breasts. 

She took a few stabilizing breaths. Quinn had slowed her hand down, now petting softly over her pussy. Santana opened her eyes and looked at Quinn with awe. "I've never done that before."

Quinn smiled down at her, and kissed the tip of her nose. "I know." She brought her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers daintily, and Santana blushed. She was feeling extremely naked, suddenly realizing that Quinn hadn't even taken off her bra. But she was also feeling tired, and emotionally drained. She hid a yawn. 

Quinn looked at her fondly. "You stay here, little one. I'll go get us a snack or something."

Santana nodded, and smiled into Quinn's lips when she kissed her before standing up. Quinn pulled a blanket off a side table and draped it over her, and Santana snuggled in. She had just had sex. With a girl. With _Quinn_. Life might not be completely perfect, but it was a whole lot better than just a few hours ago.


	7. Chapter 7

Santana felt herself drifting awake, and frowned, rolling onto her side. She couldn't hear her alarm going off, which probably meant that she didn't actually need to be awake this early, and her brain was just playing tricks on her. She opened one eye slightly, searching for her clock. 

She sat up. This wasn't her room. What the hell?

And she was naked. What the _hell_?

Santana picked up the blanket that had fallen beside her on the bed and tucked it up under her arms, trying to decide on a course of action. She had gotten to "find clothes" when the door opened and Quinn walked in, and it all came rushing back.

She had lost her virginity. She had kissed Quinn, or Quinn had kissed her. Quinn had touched her, had seen her naked, had made her come. And clearly she had fallen asleep in Quinn's apartment. Santana met Quinn's eyes and felt her face turning red. She wrapped her arms more securely around the blanket. "Hi. Um."

Quinn raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Hello, sleepyhead. I promised myself I wouldn't let you sleep too late, but I see you've woken yourself up anyway. I assumed you'd want to spend the night in your own place. Though, of course, you're welcome to stay here." She leaned against the doorway, wearing dark gray yoga pants and a soft-looking t-shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders. Santana's eyes drifted to her hands, remembering what she had been doing only hours before. 

Santana tried to collect her thoughts. "Oh, right. Um, no, I think I'll go home. I mean, yes. I – my clothes?" 

"On the dresser. I'll be in the kitchen." Quinn left, closing the door behind her. 

Fantastic, she had sounded like a complete moron. Santana got dressed quickly, pulling her phone out of her jeans pocket to check the time – past 9 p.m. She stopped at the bedroom door, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything, then walked out into the hall toward the kitchen.

Quinn was standing at the counter, beside a kettle and two mugs. Santana cleared her throat.

"I was making tea; did you want some?" Quinn turned to face her, holding up a box of tea bags.

"I'm just going to go home, actually. But thanks." 

"Alright. Do you want to talk about anything before you go?" Quinn looked concerned, and Santana tried to relax her face, make herself look un-freaked-out.

"No, I'm fine. I'll see you around." She walked quickly, not _quite_ running, to the door, and out into the hallway, grabbing her backpack from where she must have dropped it in the living room. She heard Quinn come to the door behind her but didn't turn around, crossing to her own door and unlocking it.

Once inside her apartment, Santana dropped her bag to the floor and let her keys fall out of her hand, onto a side table. She still needed to finish that paper, and she needed to have a shower, and she needed to pack her lunch for school tomorrow. But more than anything else, she needed to talk to Rachel.

__________________________________

"But even when he's away at the finals next week, we've scheduled in time for at least thirty minutes of talking every day. Probably after the games, but that's fine with me. He's very good at what he does and my pep talks aren't so necessary. Although I am preparing a small speech for the night before he leaves. After all my years of experience, I know how important it is to start a trip off on the right foot."

Rachel paused to eat the last bite of her salad, and looked at Santana out of the corner of her eye. 

"I know you don't care about Victor's lacrosse championship. But if you aren't going to talk about what happened last night, then I have to fill in the silence somehow. You don't have to tell me who it was, but you can at least tell me how it went?" She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "I know it's not about me, but I thought I would at least have heard about a boy you were into before you got this far."

Santana let her sandwich drop back into its container, feeling her stomach grumble uneasily. She had called Rachel in a panic the night before, trying to explain what had happened without telling her about Quinn, and her explanation had consisted mostly of _I had sex; it was good; please tell me I didn't make a mistake_. She really hadn't had a coherent speech kind of evening. "It wasn't," she bit out.

"Wasn't what? Wasn't serious? Santana, we may have different definitions. You calling me during my bedtime routine to tell me that you lost your v-card means serious in my book. Was it even a guy I know?" Rachel started putting away her lunch containers, and Santana glanced nervously around them. They were sitting in the courtyard of their school, and it was a nice sunny day so plenty of other students had had the same idea. But no one seemed close enough to have overheard Rachel.

"That's not what I meant." Santana shifted to sit closer to Rachel and lowered her voice. "It wasn't a guy."

Rachel stared at her. "What?"

Santana raised her eyebrows significantly, trying to convey a hundred different thoughts without having to actually say them. What had happened to all of Rachel's psychic skills, anyway? 

Rachel didn't seem to have gotten the hint. "So, what, you slept with a girl?"

"Shh," Santana hissed. "There's still people around us."

"You _slept_ with a _girl_!" Rachel hissed right back. "What the hell is going on with you, Santana? Was it Ilse? Oh my god, I should have known she would turn you gay. All those stupid plaid shirts had to have been a sign; no straight girl has that terrible of a fashion sense."

Santana dropped her head down to rest on her knees and took a deep breath, then sat back up. "No, Rachel, it wasn't Ilse. And she has a boyfriend and is, as far as I know, completely straight. I don't know what her deal is with plaid."

"Then who? And why? And – oh my god – and _how_? You are not getting out of telling me every detail." Rachel looked completely crazy now, and Santana half wished that she hadn't said anything. But who else would she be able to talk to? She definitely wasn't calling her mother to bond over her first sexual experience.

"OK. But you aren't allowed to talk. Or, I guess you can, but before you ask a question you have to think if it's something you would answer if I asked you. Nothing horrible." Santana looked sternly at Rachel, who seemed about to complain before she nodded and sat back, folding her hands primly in her lap.

"Please, go on."

Santana rolled her eyes. "And you aren't allowed to use my experiences for your acting lessons."

"Come on, Santana! What if I have to play a coming-of-age gay woman at some point? This is prime material for my future career." Rachel's shoulders dropped from the unusually stiff pose she had been holding.

"Swear it."

"Fine. Start talking."

Santana uncrossed and recrossed her legs, and took a sip of her bottle of water. "It was Quinn."

Rachel froze. Santana looked over at her and waited. 

"Isn't she like thirty?"

"No, she's only twenty-eight."

"Santana, she is more than _ten years_ older than you. Are you crazy?" Rachel covered her mouth, looking horrified.

"I didn't plan it! It's not like I set about trying to seduce her; it just happened!" Santana dragged a hand across her eyes, feeling a headache coming on.

"No, San, sleeping with a woman more than ten years older than you does not 'just happen,'" Rachel said, making air quotes with her fingers. "What in the world? You have better decision making skills than this. Did she come on to you?"

"It wasn’t like that. I was upset and she was making me feel better," Santana began.

"Yeah, with her – wait, what did you even do? Was it weird toys? Were you _safe_? Oh my god, Santana." Rachel dropped her head into her hands.

"Remember the question rule, Rach. But no, she didn't use toys; just, um, her fingers." Santana could feel herself blushing, and looked back down at the grass.

A beat.

"Does that count?"

"Rachel! Why wouldn't it count? Do you hear yourself?" Santana glared. 

"I'm just saying, most people probably don't count fingers as real sex. You're basically still a virgin." Rachel smiled at her.

Santana pressed her lips together, trying to keep her temper. " _I_ think it counts, Rachel. That's what matters. Sex isn't only when a penis is involved, FYI."

"OK, lesbians don't want penises, I get that; but there must be other things they do that would be more, I don't know, _real_ than just fingering. I mean-"

"Stop. Right now. I don't want to hear the end of that sentence."

Rachel looked surprised. "I thought it would make you feel better if it-"

"Nope. You've lost your speaking rights."

Rachel pouted a bit, but shut up. Santana licked her lips and checked the time on her phone. The bell for the end of lunch was going to ring in less than five minutes; she needed to wrap this up.

"Cliff's notes version. I've been having some, uh, confusing feelings lately. About girls." Rachel opened her mouth and Santana cut her off. "Not about you! Other girls. You're basically a cabbage patch doll in my head."

"Thanks?"

"You're welcome. So I was upset, and Quinn noticed, and I talked to her. And it led to, well. And it felt good. It felt great, actually. And I didn't get to do anything, and I think that's bugging me, too, and I don't know if I want more or if I-"

"Shh, take a breath." Rachel put her hand on Santana's shoulder, and Santana gasped a bit, stopping the deluge of words that had been spilling out of her. 

"Right." She paused again, trying to remember what she had wanted to say. "But that's the big thing, isn't it? She's way older than me, and I don't even know if I want to sleep with her or date her, or if she's even interested in me, or what to do next." Santana turned fully to face Rachel, who was still looking somber. "And as insane as you are, you usually know exactly what you want. So I need you to tell me what I want. Please?

Santana waited, feeling herself begin to tear up, and the bell rang. Rachel helped her to stand up and gave her a tight hug. 

She pulled back, and looked at Santana. "I wish I could just tell you. But I don't have all the answers today, and I have to get to Government to get the exam review stuff. Tonight, though? Come over, and we'll talk over every possible option. I have soy chocolate ice cream; you won't even know the difference."

Santana smiled weakly. "That sounds great, Rach. You know you're my favorite person, right?"

"Oh yeah, that's old news." Rachel looped her arm through Santana's and led them toward the main building. "But it is nice to hear, sometimes."

__________________________________

Santana took the pan of cookies out of the oven and set it on a cooling rack. Although Ben might accuse her of not knowing how to cook, she had learned how to make ginger snaps early in life, and had perfected the method. The apartment smelled delicious and spicy, and made her feel relaxed.

She picked up the pan that she had already baked and started transferring the cool cookies onto a plastic plate, mulling over her plan. Talking with Rachel had been surprisingly helpful. Rachel had listened more than she talked, at least to begin with, and offered as much junk food as they could carry out of the kitchen. Santana had spent most of the evening there, and had kept up a regular stream of texts over the next day as Rachel studied for her first exams and Santana put the final touches on her art portfolio. 

It was now two whole days since she had seen Quinn, and Santana was getting antsy. She knew she had left uncomfortably fast on Sunday night. She wasn't sure exactly what she wanted to say, but she definitely needed to clear the air with Quinn. 

So, cookies. Cookies were a neutral kind of thing, and would make a perfect peace offering. If Quinn seemed upset, Santana would give them to her and leave right away. But if Quinn seemed fine, or wanted to talk? Then Santana would be ready to talk. Not necessarily about sex. But talk. 

She rearranged the cookies on the plate, and checked the pan cooling on the counter. Another five minutes and they would be ready to go, too. She knew that Quinn taught her class on Monday and Wednesday afternoons and should be getting home soon. 

A noise from the hallway. Santana rushed to the door and looked through the peephole, squinting and angling her head to try and see the elevator. No luck; all she could see was the Actons' door across from hers. But no one was going into that apartment, so she had a fifty percent chance that it was Quinn.

Santana returned to the kitchen and put the rest of the cookies onto the plate, and covered it all with a clean tea towel. Then she checked her hair, smoothed down her shirt, and went out into the hall. Time to get this show on the road. 

Quinn was just opening her apartment door, weighed down with three tote bags. Santana cleared her throat, and Quinn jumped slightly, turning to face her.

"Oh, hello Santana. Were you there a moment ago? It's been a long day; sorry if I ignored you." Quinn turned back to her apartment and dropped her bags inside the entry, propping the door open. 

"No, I heard you coming home." Santana cringed internally; she sounded like a stalker. "Um, I made these for you. Cookies." She walked closer to Quinn and held out the plate.

"That's so nice of you, Santana. Would you like to come in?" 

"Sure." Santana followed Quinn into her apartment and set the plate of cookies down on the coffee table. Quinn set her bags in her office and returned, offering Santana a drink. Santana sat down at the end of the couch, feeling tense, and accepted the glass of milk Quinn brought her.

Quinn sat at the other end of the couch and looked sideways at Santana before speaking. "So, you must be into exams now. How are things going?"

Santana sagged with relief. This she could talk about. "Mine haven't started yet. I've got one on Friday and two next week, so I'm just studying now."

"Only three? No exam in..." Quinn's voice drifted off.

"Art," Santana supplied. "I think we have to have a final exam next year, but junior year art doesn't require it."

"That's a pretty good set up." Quinn took a cookie from the plate and bit into it, then hummed around it. "This is delicious, Santana! I didn't even know you could cook."

"Well, bake," Santana said. "I don't really do meals. But I can do a couple different kinds of cookies, and my brownies are pretty good, too. I was thinking I should take cooking lessons, though. Ben disapproves of my takeout habits." She took a cookie and nibbled around the edges. 

Quinn finished her cookie and reached for a second. "I am always a fan of cooking lessons. I took a great course about Thai food a few years back, and get wonderful comments on my pad thai."

Santana knew that Quinn was a good cook already. And she had been trying to think of a way to spend more time with Quinn, now that school was over and she wasn't going to need a homework buddy anymore. So she took the plunge. "You should teach me."

Quinn looked surprised. Santana didn't let herself look away, and waited.

"I suppose so, but wouldn't you rather have a professional? I seem confident, but I make the same five meals over and over most of the time." Quinn laughed self-deprecatingly. 

"No, I like spending time with you. You're kind of exactly what I want to be like in ten years, although probably not doing a Ph.D. But you've got yourself figured out, and that's what I don't have right now." Santana took a sip of her milk and set the glass down on a coaster. "I mean, if you don't want to teach me, that's cool. But-"

"Of course, Santana. I would love to teach you to cook." Santana smiled, relieved. Quinn continued. "But if we're going to spend a lot of time together again, we will eventually have to talk about what happened on the weekend."

Santana bit her lip. "Yeah. And I want to. Talk, I mean. But not today? Can we just-" She felt her face heating up and spoke faster, trying to get all the words out. "Just for today, can you be my friend again?"

Quinn's lips turned down a little. "I'm your friend no matter what happens, Santana. But if I crossed a line, or made you uncomfortable at all, I really need to know."

"You didn't!" Santana rushed to reassure her. "I wanted everything that we did, honestly. It was, it was perfect. And I want – I don't know what I want. Yet. But when I figure it out, you will be the first person to know." 

"Alright. I can live with that." Quinn grabbed another cookie and settled more comfortably onto the couch. "So, let's talk about food. What do you like to eat already? If we start with familiar foods, we can branch out into the fun and crazy later."

Santana grinned, noticing that her chest wasn't feeling so tight. She had missed having Quinn as her mentor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet; we're getting to the end soon :)


	8. Chapter 8

Santana frowned at her paper. Exams were over, school was out, and she was supposed to be recharging over the summer holidays. But this sketch was just not working.

She flipped the page in her sketchbook and let her eyes wander around the park. It was just after lunch on a Saturday, so families were the main occupants. Closest to her, a woman with two children were eating the last pieces of a picnic lunch, tossing little pieces of bread in the direction of a pigeon. A couple with a young baby were sitting on a bench a little farther down. They looked exhausted; Santana wondered if the Fourth of July fireworks had kept the baby awake the night before. Santana had spent the night at Rachel's, whose dads always hosted a small party, and they had sat out on the balcony of their condo to watch fireworks in the distance, sipping sodas with fancy umbrellas in them.

Santana started mindlessly sketching out the Berrys' balcony, adding in people until it was crowded, then flipped the page again. Why didn't she have any ideas today? With the whole summer stretching out ahead of her, she would need to come up with some solid ideas for how to spend her time. Maybe she could google an art challenge of some sort. Structure would probably help her.

She watched as the couple with the baby got up and started towards the sidewalk. It was probably nap time for the baby, if not the parents. Then she squinted ahead of them – was that Quinn?

Yes, definitely. Quinn Fabray, wearing linen-colored shorts and a tank top, probably the most casual that Santana had ever seen her. She had headphones in and was walking quickly, but it was the weekend; she couldn't be going anywhere important, right? 

Santana had spent time with Quinn only twice over the past few weeks. They had sat together in the building lobby the day before Santana's history exam while Quinn waited for a friend to arrive, talking about the Revolutionary War. And earlier this week, after exams ended, Santana had gone over to Quinn's to watch a movie and eat ice cream. It had been like a girls' night in; they had talked about nail polish and hairstyles, and Santana had borrowed three more books from Quinn's YA lit shelf. It was all as if the whole month of June had never happened.

She made up her mind, putting her sketch book away and slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder. As Quinn drew closer to the bench, Santana stood up and fell in step with her, nudging her gently with her shoulder. 

Quinn started, then smiled and pulled out her earbuds. "You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that, Santana. I could be a secret black belt and you would never know."

Santana grinned. "I was trusting to your gentle nature. An unprovoked attack just doesn't sound like you."

"Yes, well, you're lucky. I forgot my nunchuks at home today."

"Naturally," Santana agreed with a laugh. "Are you on your way home?"

"I am, indeed. Had to do some social visits today, so I'm looking forward to having downtime the rest of the day. And you?" Quinn shifted the bag she was carrying to her other hand.

"Oh. Um, yes, going home. Nothing particular to do, either." Santana tried not to let her disappointment show; she had been hoping to do something, but if Quinn was feeling socialed-out, then it wasn't really fair to ask.

Quinn looked over at her. "Still alone at home, then? I had assumed your parents would be around more often now that school is out."

"No, not really. Dad's in California most of the summer, though he'll probably come up for his birthday in August. And I'm flying to Florida to meet my mom next week; we're spending a week with my grandparents." Which Santana was dreading, because a week with her grandparents meant one or two hours of freedom per day, and the rest of her time spent sitting quietly while they watched boring television and complained about her father. Not her favorite tradition.

"That sounds exciting, going to Florida," Quinn replied.

"Mm, not so much," Santana said with a sigh. "But I should at least get a tan, if I budget my time properly.

"There are worse things to get on vacation."

Santana snorted, then covered her mouth and blushed. "Sorry. You sounded like my friend just then."

"Your friend the singer?" Quinn looked intrigued.

"Gosh, no. Rachel is chilling out in her old age but she does not make dirty jokes." They had reached the apartment building, and Ben buzzed them inside. After a moment of small talk, Santana and Quinn stepped into the elevator to get to their floor.

"Well, if we're both solo this evening, how do you feel about coming over for supper? I do believe I owe you some cooking lessons." Quinn leaned against the wall of the elevator and watched Santana.

Santana pursed her lips. "Are you sure? I don't want to take away your relaxing evening."

"Hey, I consider you relaxing. Plus, it means I can justify making fancier food. Cooking for one isn't always the most exciting." The elevator door opened and they exited onto their floor.

"Then I'd love it," Santana said. "Can I bring anything?"

"No, I've got the ingredients for pad thai still. Want to come over around six? I might even have an apron to lend you; make you feel like a real chef." Quinn smiled, and Santana smiled back, helplessly.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect. I'll see you then."

Quinn went into her apartment, and Santana turned to her own, a smile still stretching her face. She couldn't help it; she just _liked_ Quinn. She was _fun_. 

She got inside and put away her bag, then dropped down onto her bed. It was hot for early summer; even wearing a sundress and flip flops, she was overheated. Santana let her breathing even out, trying to force her skin to cool down through mind powers alone.

No, she'd need a shower. Not that she had anything else more pressing to do in the meantime. A shower, and then maybe get started on one of the books Quinn had lent her.

__________________________________

Three hours later, Santana sat down heavily on the couch in Quinn's apartment, rubbing her stomach.

"We are amazing cooks."

Quinn sat down beside her. "That was all you, sweetie. I won't take the credit for your hard work. But it certainly was delicious."

Santana rolled her eyes. "You told me exactly what to do. I hardly think my own skill played into it here. And we shouldn't have made dessert; that's what killed me, I think."

"No, dessert was probably a bad idea. But also delicious." Quinn settled back onto the couch, crossing her legs. Santana followed the movement, tracing the lines of Quinn's calves with her eyes. And missing what she said next.

"What? Sorry, zoned out there." Santana shifted on the couch, facing Quinn more directly.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "I was going to suggest a movie, but if you're tired already maybe we should postpone that for another day."

"I'm not tired," Santana protested. "I'm just – distracted."

Quinn remained silent. Santana let her eyes drift down Quinn's body again then jerked her head up, blushing. 

"Actually, maybe I should go." Shit, she was so inappropriate. Quinn hadn't made a single move on her since their one night together, and here she was, undressing her with her eyes. 

Quinn placed one hand on top of Santana's. "I'm not blind, Santana. Do you want to talk?"

Santana paused, watching Quinn's face. Now that she was paying attention, Quinn's eyes were moving too – watching her lips? That had to be a sign. Right?

She licked her lip, and watched Quinn's mouth fall open, just slightly. Feeling braver, Santana leaned in and kissed Quinn.

Quinn responded gently at first, then pressed into Santana, bringing her free hand up to grip her hair. Santana moaned into Quinn's mouth, and put her free hand on Quinn's thigh, right where her shorts rode up to expose bare skin. Kissing was good. God, she liked kissing.

Santana felt Quinn's tongue pressing against her lips, and opened her mouth slightly, still figuring out what to do with her own tongue. But Quinn didn't seem to mind Santana's fumbling explorations; sucking on her tongue one moment and brushing the roof of her mouth the next. 

Eventually, Santana had to pull back to catch her breath. Quinn sat back slightly, but kept holding Santana's hand between them on the couch. 

"So," Quinn began.

"Yeah." Santana licked her lips, tasting sweetness from the dessert they had eaten.

"We need to talk about this, honey." Quinn looked serious, and Santana felt her stomach drop. 

Her dread must have shown on her face, because Quinn leaned in and kissed her gently, then murmured, "There's nothing wrong. We just need to be on the same page."

"OK," Santana replied. "Where do we start?"

"Well, what are you looking for from me?" 

Santana thought about it. She wasn't even sure. "I don't know? I like being with you, and s-sex, last time, was nice." She blushed as she spoke, feeling childish. A deep breath, and she continued. "You make me feel good, just spending time with you, but I think I'd like to do more. If you want to."

Quinn tilted her head, and Santana fought the urge to hold her breath. "I feel the same way about you, Santana. I enjoy spending time with you, whether or not we have sex. But if you'd like more, I would certainly like to share that with you." She seemed to make a decision, straightening her shoulders. "But we're not dating. I don't say that to be cruel; it's just not how I live my life right now. If you want to be with me, in a sexual way, you have to understand that we're not exclusive or permanent. It's just a for now arrangement, until you find someone more appropriate."

Santana froze, trying to parse the statement. Should she feel insulted? That Quinn would sleep with her but still see other people? But that had seemed to be Quinn's mode of operation all along; why would she change for Santana? And did Santana even want anything more serious? Maybe this _friends with benefits_ -type arrangement was best. Although, what was _appropriate_ supposed to mean?

"OK. I think I got all that." Santana nodded briefly. "I can't promise to be perfect, but you have permission to remind me of the ground rules if I get carried away or anything."

Quinn half-smiled. "I'm not worried; I've told you before, you're a very smart girl. You'll figure it out."

Santana blushed and looked down, then forced herself to look up again. "So..."

Quinn raised her eyebrows. "You're going to have to use your words here, sweetheart."

Santana huffed out a laugh. "So, can I kiss you again?"

Quinn smiled and leaned in, kissing Santana. Santana smiled into her lips, running her hands over Quinn's shoulders and around her back. Quinn pressed a smacking kiss into her lips and pulled back. "Is this just a kissing night, or how do you feel about nudity?"

"I'm pro-nudity," Santana replied, pretending to be serious. "But only when it is shared. I took on all of the nudity last time, which was horribly unfair."

"Just terrible," Quinn agreed. "We should do something about that." She kissed Santana again, and began working at the buttons of her blouse. Santana, in turn, pulled gently at the bottom of Quinn's tank top, waiting until Quinn's hands were free before tugging it over her head. She shrugged off her now-unbuttoned blouse and let it fall to the floor. 

Santana took a moment to admire Quinn, her pale skin contrasting with the tan lace bra she was wearing, her flat stomach moving with her breaths. Hesitantly, she ran her hand from Quinn's shoulder down her arm, then back up and down the side of her torso, before carefully brushing her fingers over the top of Quinn's breast. She looked up at Quinn's face to find her watching, and smiled shyly. "Is this OK?"

"It's fine. But you can really touch me, you know. I won't disappear." Quinn ran her hand down Santana's face and neck, and around to her back. "I'm confiscating this," she added as she unhooked Santana's bra.

"Oh, is that so?" Santana laughed. "Well, turnabout is fair whatever." She started working at Quinn's bra, but struggled to undo it properly. Quinn pulled Santana's bra down her arms, then helped by taking off her own. Santana smiled at her, and Quinn smiled back, wolfishly. 

Quinn pushed Santana to lean against the back of the couch, then knelt up over her, resting on her lap. She framed Santana's face with her hands and started kissing her again. Santana hummed happily, and touched everywhere she could reach on Quinn's arms and back before nervously venturing toward the front of her body. She tentatively drew her hands over Quinn's breasts, and Quinn arched her back to press them further into Santana's hands. She took that as a good sign and continued her exploration, rubbing and twisting carefully at Quinn's nipples. Quinn returned the favor, running her hands over Santana's exposed skin, and Santana gasped as she felt Quinn's hands cup her breasts. 

Santana let her head drop against the back of the couch as she tried to catch her breath, and Quinn kissed down her neck and chest, then pulled a nipple into her mouth. Santana pressed Quinn's head down encouragingly, and Quinn sucked harder before pulling off and kissing across to her other breast. Santana felt her pulse speeding, and her hips arched involuntarily. Quinn smiled up at her. "You like this?"

"Yes, yes yes, it's good," Santana replied in a rush. She pressed her hands down Quinn's back, all the way to her ass to grab her through her shorts. "Less clothes?"

Quinn nodded and lifted her mouth from Santana's hard nipple. "I can do that." She stood up from Santana's lap and began undoing the button on her shorts.

Santana leaned forward quickly. "Can I?" She had realized suddenly that she really wanted to undress Quinn herself. She felt her mouth watering, and swallowed.

"Sure," Quinn replied, taking her hands away. Santana pushed the button the rest of the way through the hole, then slowly unzipped the zipper. The shorts were hanging loosely from Quinn's hips, and Santana held them as she pulled them down her legs, revealing a pair of tan panties that matched the bra she had already removed. The shorts hit the floor and Quinn stepped out of them, then returned to stand in front of Santana. Santana looked up at Quinn with a question in her eyes, and Quinn nodded.

Santana breathed out, and tucked her fingers under the band of Quinn's panties, then stopped and pressed a dry kiss to her stomach. Feeling calmer, Santana gently tugged at the underwear, kissing the slight indentation it had left in Quinn's skin, then watching as a neatly trimmed triangle of darker blonde hair was revealed. The panties slipped down Quinn's legs on their own, and then she was naked, standing in front of Santana, waiting.

Santana took her time. Quinn was beautiful; she had known that before, but seeing her now was an entirely different experience. She was calm and confident, her arms relaxed at her sides, her breasts pert, her nipples still hard from Santana's earlier play. Santana looked her fill, then stood up to kiss Quinn, pressing her body close.

She could feel Quinn working at the button and zip of her own jean shorts as they kissed, but didn't let it bother her. She and Quinn were close enough in height that their breasts pressed together, and Santana's sensitive nipples sent jolts of pleasure as they brushed against Quinn's. She felt Quinn pushing her shorts and panties down, and kicked them aside once they hit the floor.

It was as if she needed to do and see and feel everything. Santana tried to hold Quinn while also feeling her while also rubbing against her, and got frustrated when it didn't all work at once. She grunted in annoyance, and felt Quinn laugh against her mouth.

"Slow down, little one. We have all the time in the world."

Santana resisted the urge to pout. "You can say that; none of this is new to you."

" _You_ are new to me, so really, it's all new again," Quinn pointed out. "Things never go quite the same with each person. I want to savor the moment. Let's not rush."

Santana felt herself smiling against her will. "You're kind of romantic, even against your will."

"I have nothing against romance. You should see me on Valentine's Day – I go all out. With whoever will go out with me that day, but it counts." Quinn had been rubbing her hands up and down Santana's arms, and now gently pushed her back onto the couch. "Can I try something? Stop me if you don't like it."

Santana snorted. "Sure, if I don't like it."

Quinn slapped her leg lightly. "Respect your elders. Open your legs, scooch your butt forward – just there, good. Now don't move."

Santana rested back on her elbows and watched as Quinn knelt on the floor in front of her, and suddenly understood what was about to happen. "Oh."

Quinn looked up at her through her eyelashes, and dropped her head to kiss low on Santana's stomach, then moved down to nip at the soft skin of her thighs. Santana clenched her hands into fists, wanting to push Quinn's face over, just a little. Her patience was rewarded, and soon Quinn moved to Santana's pussy, licking lightly over her labia. Santana gasped in a breath – she was more sensitive than she had expected. Quinn licked again, then began applying pressure in different places, getting close to her clit before moving away again. Santana clenched her muscles and moaned softly. She had already been turned on, and this was going to knock her over the edge, and quick. 

Quinn flattened her tongue and pressed it down over Santana's hole, then finally moved close enough to her clit, to the skin just below it. Santana twitched and gasped, and Quinn stayed right there, repeating her movements.

"Oh god, yes," Santana moaned, putting her hands on the back of Quinn's head. Her breathing became more erratic, and she shivered. She cried out wordlessly as she came, pushing her hips up toward Quinn's mouth, then falling back boneless on the couch. Quinn backed off from her clit but stayed knelt on the floor, kissing gently over her pussy, licking up some of her juices.

"Wow," Santana said. Quinn waggled her eyebrows without stopping her movements, and Santana laughed lightly. 

Then Quinn brought a hand up and petted it along Santana's pubic mound, smoothing down the short hairs before sliding down near her tongue, moving through Santana's labia. Santana giggled as Quinn danced her finger over her pussy, getting nearer her hole. Then she closed her eyes and let her head fall back as Quinn pressed a finger into her hole, just pressing in lightly as Santana squeezed around it. Quinn's tongue continued its movement around her lips, sometimes darting up near her clit and away again, as her finger began moving slowly inside her. Santana shifted her hips with the movement, and sucked in a breath as Quinn curved her finger and pushed up. 

Santana covered her eyes with her forearm, squeezing her eyes shut as the pressure inside her began to mount. She took in a shaking breath and felt her whole body shaking with it, and used her other hand to press the top of Quinn's head, "Yes, there, oh my god," as Quinn's tongue got just beside her clit and stayed there. Quinn pulled her finger out to add a second, and continued her slow and steady movements, curving upwards into a place that made Santana want to swear. Santana gasped as the sensations broke over her, and definitely did _not_ squeak, and came again, still holding Quinn's head down over her pussy. She let out the breath she had been holding and let her arms fall to her sides, allowing Quinn to move again.

Quinn took her time, keeping her mouth pressed softly to Santana's lips a little longer before pulling away and dropping little kisses along the crease of her thighs and back up her stomach. She stood up and came to sit beside Santana on the couch, leaning over to kiss her, and Santana could taste _herself_ on Quinn's lips, and it was all so overwhelming. But kissing Quinn was amazing, so she tilted her face up to get a better angle and hummed happily, wrapping her arms around Quinn's shoulders. 

A few moments, and Santana felt like her pulse was back at a normal rate, and maybe her face wasn't fire engine red anymore. She pulled away from Quinn, eyes half-closed still, and considered her.

"You're amazing."

Quinn scrunched her nose. "You're sweet."

"I want to try." Santana rushed the words out, not wanting to lose her confidence. Quinn had made her feel so good, twice now (well, three times), and Quinn hadn't gotten off at all. And getting to touch Quinn would just be the icing on the cake.

"You don't need to," Quinn began, but Santana interrupted her.

"Please?" She ran a hand down Quinn's side to rest on her hip, and kissed her lightly. "I want to."

"Yeah, OK." Quinn licked her lips. "But, bedroom."

Santana stood up and reached a hand down to Quinn, pulling her up off the couch and down the hall to Quinn's bedroom. No time to let Quinn change her mind.

Once in the bedroom, Santana stopped. What did she want to do? She wanted to make Quinn come, sure, but literally everything she knew about sex Quinn herself had taught her. She watched as Quinn sat down on the edge of the bed, then lay down facing Santana.

Santana made up her mind. She lay down beside Quinn, shuffling to get close, and kissed her, pushing on her shoulder to make Quinn lie down flat. Santana knelt over Quinn and ran her hands over her shoulders, arms, breasts, exploring her mouth with her tongue. She tweaked lightly at Quinn's nipples, danced her fingers over her flat stomach, traced over the bones in her hips. She ran her fingers through the hair on Quinn's pubic mound, making it stand up then patting it back down. Santana could feel Quinn's breathing getting heavier, her breasts pushing up against Santana's. 

She reached her hand lower, letting her fingers touch just the top of Quinn's pussy, then pressing down, feeling the wet heat. Santana ducked down to mouth at Quinn's neck as her fingers explored her pussy, finding the smooth skin of her lips, the prominent bulge of her clit. Tentatively, she began a rhythmic movement around Quinn's clit, noticing when Quinn drew in a quick breath, and returning to that spot to apply more pressure. 

Not wanting to leave a hickey by accident, Santana shifted her mouth down to Quinn's chest, and over to her breasts as her fingers kept moving. She used her free hand to hold herself up, angling her mouth over Quinn's nipples so she could lick and suck gently, then harder as Quinn hummed with approval and rested her hands on the back of Santana's head. Santana nipped at the breast she had been working over, and moved to the other one. 

"Right there," Quinn gasped, and Santana's fingers kept up their trajectory around her clit, pushing down slightly harder as they moved. She could feel Quinn pushing her lower body upwards and tensing, and kept her movements steady as Quinn shook, and held, and slumped back. Santana lifted her head to see Quinn, who had her eyes closed and mouth open as she breathed in raggedly. Should she continue?

The decision was made for her as Quinn shifted her hips away from Santana's hand. "Enough, sweetheart. Sensitive now." Quinn smiled broadly and tugged at Santana's arm. "Come back here."

Santana crawled back up beside Quinn and lay down on her side. Her fingers were wet still and she wasn't sure what to do with them, so she rested them on the blanket. Quinn seemed to notice her hesitation, and picked up her hand to hold it, settling their linked hands on her stomach. Then Quinn leaned over and kissed Santana deeply, and Santana closed her eyes to enjoy it.

After a while, Quinn squeezed at Santana's hand and sat back. "How are you feeling?"

Santana tried not to grin, and failed. "Pretty good. That was – nice."

"Nice. I agree. I am, however, feeling a tiny bit sticky, and was thinking of a shower."

"Oh, of course. I'll just collect my stuff; get out of your hair." Santana started to pull away, but Quinn tightened her grip and kept her from going far.

"Yes, you could. Or you could join me?" Quinn raised her eyebrows and Santana felt her cheeks reddening. Why in the world would taking a shower with Quinn make her blush more than actually, you know, what they had just done? Wow, even in her head she was a prude.

"I would like that," she answered finally. "But only to conserve water, of course."

"Of course," Quinn replied solemnly. "I'm just thinking of the environment here."

Santana rolled her eyes fondly and stood up, pulling Quinn with her. "I am in awe of your responsibility, and will definitely not use this opportunity to cop a feel."

"I will make no such promise," Quinn said with a wink. Santana felt her breathing speed up again. God, but Quinn was hot.


End file.
